


The Ascension of Violent Saints

by gimmefire, Tasyfa



Series: Saints Universe [5]
Category: Green Day, Metallica
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Control, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-02
Updated: 2007-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 122,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasyfa/pseuds/Tasyfa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I don’t have words for the things you do to me."</i> Who would’ve thought? The heavy metal drummer and the punk rock frontman, dating. That’s the happy ending, right? Wrong. Between dirty vacations and disastrous family dinners, lingering exes and shattered boundaries, Billie and Lars have a long way to go yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Fuck. It's really hot."  
  
 _Ladies and gentlemen, Lars Ulrich, proud speaker of the completely fucking obvious,_ he thought as soon as the words had left his mouth. His lips twisted into a smirk at that, beneath the arm draped over his face, shielding his eyes from the sun because he was too lazy to go get his sunglasses. Where were his sunglasses, pray tell? It certainly bore repeating – it was such a lovely thought, after all. So, from the top.   
  
_I, the aforementioned Lars Ulrich, own a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses. Those sunglasses are currently sitting on the glass table, which is in turn sitting on the cream ceramic tiled floor, which is in turn sitting inside the air-conditioned, beachfront, private villa. Where is the villa? Oh, you're going to love this. The villa is behind me. On a secluded, remote beach on an 850 acre privately rented island in the Caribbean. What could top that?  
  
Inside the fully stocked kitchen of the air-conditioned, beachfront, private villa is Billie Joe Armstrong. Getting more ice for our champagne ice bucket. In nothing but a towel.  
  
Basically, everybody can fucking kiss my ass, because it doesn't get better than this._  
  
The drummer continued to sprawl on the sun lounger, continued to be too lazy to go and fetch his sunglasses, smug in the knowledge that this could probably rank up as one of the greatest holidays in the history of everything – and it had been his idea.  
  
Never one to shy away from extravagance, Lars had casually suggested a vacation to Billie, carefully poking around for dates when they were both free and dropping the subject as quickly as it was raised. A few days later, a brochure had been dropped surreptitiously through the Armstrong letterbox, one corner folded over on the page detailing rentable Caribbean islands. Circled in red was Guana Island, and beneath the photograph of a lush forest backing onto a white beach and the purest of crystal seas, a Post-It note was stuck.  
  
 _Reserved for one grouchy heavy metal tub-thumper and one girly pop-punk ringmaster. Waiting on the ringmaster's say-so…_  
  
So here they were. Never let it be said that romance was dead. Or the desire for hot beach sex.  
  
Smiling, not a little complacently, at the thought of the look that might have crossed the 'ringmaster's' face at the sight of the note, Lars heaved a deep, satisfied sigh. At the sound of padding feet, he raised his arm a little and squinted up the petite form now beside him, refilled bucket in hand, a sheen of sweat covering every visible inch of the tattooed, smooth skin. Green eyes slowly raising to find hazels obscured by sunglasses – _his_ sunglasses – Lars smirked.  
  
"I've told you already that you look good sweaty, right?"  
  
Billie grinned as he set the bucket on the small table and sank into the other sun lounger, unobtrusively dropping his own shades underneath the chair as he looked at Lars over the top of the drummer's Ray-Bans.  
  
"Good thing, since there's no way to avoid it besides being a pussy and staying inside all the time." Those few minutes in the air-conditioned villa had chilled him a bit, but the tropical heat didn't take long to re-assert itself on his body and he sighed in contentment. This had been a fabulous idea of Lars's, and he was going to be hard-put to come up with something at least as good as an encore. But he wasn't thinking about that, or anything else, right now. The unrelenting sunshine demanded relaxation and Billie Joe was not about to argue.  
  
He fished two champagne flutes out of the ice bucket. They were wet, but it hardly mattered; everything was wet in this kind of heat. The open bottle went back into the ice after he'd poured and Billie sat back in the lounger, pulling the towel from around his waist and dropping it on the ground with a pleased sound. He was more comfortable naked than in a stupid little towel, handy as it had been as protection against the icy bucket hitting sensitive skin. Truthfully, he was more comfortable naked than in almost anything else. Nudity held zero shame for him.  
  
The cold champagne felt so good going down. The condensation dripping from the base of the glass onto his chest was nice, too. He closed his eyes, humming low in his throat after another mouthful. The only minor annoyance was the way his hair had stuck to his head in drenched, unruly curls. Billie had brought a straightening iron with him but only for appearances on the way home. For most of this little getaway, he'd hardly bothered even combing his hair, never mind trying to tame it. Mainly because he was on vacation, and the intense heat would have made it an exercise in futility anyway.  
  
There was also the small matter of Lars having called him 'girly'. Spending half an hour fucking with his hair wasn't going to help that cause any. Adrienne had laughed herself silly when she'd seen the note stuck to the travel brochure. Billie hadn't figured out how to get the drummer back for that yet, either. Sweaty heat and a lot of sex apparently didn't fuel his ability for deep thought.  
  
He drained the flute, rubbing the cool crystal along his forehead before plunging it back into the ice bucket, and then turned over in the lounger, sprawling on his stomach with another soft hum of appreciation. Though he'd be slightly more comfortable if he took off the sunglasses and laid his cheek flat against the chair, Billie opted to prop his head up a little and keep them on. After all, Lars hadn't asked for them back yet, and he had the perverse desire to hang onto them until the drummer did ask.  
  
Or simply took them. You never knew with Lars, and so far as Billie was concerned, that was half the fun of provoking him.  
  
Lars half attempted to drink his champagne without sitting up from his fully reclined sun lounger; a silly endeavour he only halted on dripping his drink onto his chin. Grousing under his breath, he pulled himself up into a sitting position and looked out through severely narrowed eyes across the veranda, the beach and the sea as he swigged inelegantly from his glass. Folding his legs underneath him, he continued trying to look at his surroundings without the aid of sunglasses for a few moments, before giving up and turning his head to berate Billie. _I set all this nice shit up for us and then I have to sit in the sun getting blinded because you—_  
  
The words never appeared, though, because Billie was naked and sprawled and it had a habit of making the thought process fail like a conceptual Metallica funk album.  
  
But he was still wearing _his_ fucking Ray-Bans, dammit, and something had to be done about that.  
  
Raising his arm to shield his eyes a little better, the drummer cast his eyes over the newly tanned mister a few feet from him – he liked Billie all golden like that, his skin looked like it tasted better – and wondered idly how to go about getting his sunglasses back. It was far too easy just to ask for them, right? Lying like that, the frontman was basically presenting himself on a plate for some kind of prank. It'd be rude not to comply.  
  
"Enjoying those sunglasses, huh?" he drawled, finishing his champagne with a noisy _glug_ before sloping to his feet, adjusting his shorts and stretching. At the content sounding hum of affirmation from Billie, Lars gave a snuffing chuckle. _Now_ that's _fuckin' asking for it._ A pleasant bubble of excitement, of exhilaration swelled in his chest, and he grinned impishly, eyeing the ice bucket. _I hope he screams like the girl he is._  
  
Getting away from everything and anything he had to think about at home, in the real world, was both necessary and wonderful. He could have done that by going back to Denmark for a few weeks and drinking himself stupid with old friends, but this was better. This was a lot better. Billie inspired a youthful exuberance in him, one that he could stand to hold onto for a long time. So…ah, fuck, was it a horrible cliché that he felt like a teenager again?  
  
Calmly, without giving it a second thought, the drummer reached over into the ice bucket, dug out a good two handfuls of ice and threw it down all over Billie's back, bringing his cold hands down to slap hard against the younger man's ass in the same motion. A devilish cackle, and Lars was away, bounding down onto the beach like a man half his age until he judged he was a safe distance from the veranda. Pulling his best Sebastian Bach pose – arm behind the head, hip thrust out, legs crossed, sultry gaze – he grinned and issued a challenge in a grating, high-pitched squawk.  
  
"Chase me, motherfucker!"  
  
"HEY!" The indignant shout accompanied Billie's mad scramble to his feet, ice cubes crashing onto the veranda floor as the frigid meltwater that had accompanied them ran in rivulets down his bare skin and his butt cheeks felt hot and cold both from the smack. He'd heard the rattle as Lars had plunged his hands into the ice bucket – and truthfully, had half-expected some kind of move with the ice – but the older man's speed had totally caught him off guard. For a guy who'd been too lazy to walk ten feet and get his own goddamned sunglasses, he moved fast when he wanted to get away.  
  
Billie's eyes narrowed as the drummer issued the challenge, gauging the distance between them. Chase him? A laugh bubbled forth. Why the fuck not?  
  
He took a running leap off the veranda, voicing a strident yell as he bypassed the stairs altogether. Of course, he also nearly faceplanted when he landed in the hot sand, skidding with his arms windmilling for balance as Lars took off.  
  
Billie righted himself and sprinted after him, both of them finding it easier going on the damp, packed sand near the placid surf. He put on a burst of speed and dove at the drummer, grabbing for his legs and taking him down.  
  
They hit the sand with a wet smack and Billie grunted as air was forcibly expelled from his lungs, grateful that he hadn't injured anything important. He'd done sillier things than chase his lover down a beach wearing nothing but said lover's sunglasses, he was sure he had, but offhand nothing else was coming to mind.  
  
Giggling breathlessly, he flipped Lars onto his back and crawled up the drummer's sandy body until their faces were level. Billie stared down at shining green eyes through the tinted plastic concealing his own gaze, his lips curling in a lopsided smirk.  
  
"Dirty trick, Uli, and right after I was so nice about refilling the bucket too. Just for that I don't think I'm going to give these back."  
  
Lars had let loose another cackle, loud and harsh, as he just caught the sight of Billie flailing like a cartoon character on a banana peel when he hit the sand. Then the two of them were off, pelting down the beach for an all too brief time before the drummer was brought crashing down like they were in some semi-naked football game.  
  
"Motherfuck!" Lars exclaimed as Billie drew up level with him, scowling indignantly at his own reflection in his own sunglasses, which he was sure would have been terrifying were he not puffing for breath – the phrase 'too fucking old for this shit' popped into his head again – and grinning wide. Mainly from the fact that there was a very much naked man practically pinning him to the sand. "I let you catch me, you know that, don't you? And I don't even want those things anymore, not now they've been on your sweaty face."  
  
He would never let on how much he liked his nickname. He would most certainly never let on how much power it held over him – a select few knew about the babyish moniker, and fewer still were actually allowed to use it. Coming from the right person, it made his stomach do a flip, it made him _giddy_ , for fuck's sake. The right person had indeed just said it, so it was really all he could do not to giggle.  
  
His abrupt burst of energy gone, Lars was content to lie on the cooling, damp sand, letting his head roll to one side so he could squint out across the ocean, at the sluggish waves that lapped to a gentle stop a few feet from where they had landed. He smirked. "What the fuck is this, a Chris Isaak video?"  
  
Pulling his gaze back to his lover, he frowned. "Take those fuckin' things off so I can see you," he demanded righteously. He paused. "And then kiss me, instead of fuckin' hovering up there like a hummingbird, or something."  
  
"A hummingbird, huh?" Billie had definitely been compared to worse things than a tiny, pretty bird. It was sort of sweet, really, and his smirk became a real smile. "Close your eyes."  
  
He waited until the drummer obeyed – huffily, a frown still creasing his forehead as his eyelids slipped shut. Billie suppressed a laugh. He'd once thought that _he_ possessed perhaps an excess of attitude, and then he'd gotten involved with Lars Ulrich.  
  
He kissed the frown, feeling the ridges smooth out, then brought his mouth down to Lars's, stopping scant millimeters from touching him.  
  
"Don't they kinda hang there and taste?" he murmured throatily, extending his tongue and licking delicately at the drummer's lips.  
  
The wet, feathery caresses continued as he shifted to straddle Lars, knees spreading easily to clasp strong thighs, chests still pressed together. Billie might have been a bit smaller than the diminutive drummer, with features that had grown almost feminine when he'd finally shed his chubby baby face (at the age of thirty, Jesus), but as he bestowed teasing near-kisses on his lover's mouth whilst sitting astride him buck naked, it became fucking obvious that he was in fact male.  
  
He couldn't help but smile as he licked along Lars's jaw; apparently time spent with the older man made _all_ of him feel seventeen again. The few months they'd been together made for a relationship that wasn't quite brand new anymore, but the hunger hadn't diminished at all.  
  
The mood rippled when Billie coughed and leaned over to spit out the mouthful of sand that had been hiding behind a pierced ear, no doubt kicked up when he'd tackled Lars. He laughed and nuzzled in close.   
  
"Clearly I'm not cut out for being much of a seducer today."  
  
The drummer opened his eyes to roll them dramatically, lips having gone from slightly parted in languid pleasure, to curved up in a soft smile, to pursed into an exaggerated pout.  
  
"No shit," he muttered into Billie's ear, before fastening his teeth lightly over the lobe and nibbling gently at the soft flesh. Raising his arms, he draped them over the younger man's shoulders. "You started off pretty well, too."  
  
Feeling Billie's half-hard cock against his thigh and feeling his own cock twitch repeatedly in appreciative reply told him as much. The dull heat in the pit of his stomach was the best kind of pleasant, something he'd felt many, many times over during this blissful vacation, and he looked forward to feeling it many, many times more before the flight home.  
  
Lars huffed. "Guess if you want something done right…"  
  
He finished his sentence by tightening his arms around Billie and rolling over until the younger man lay against the sand. Smirking confidently, he dipped his head to press a long, damp kiss to the hollow of his lover's throat, eyes slipping shut as he savoured the press of slick skin against his mouth. Then, raising, one hand coming up to cup the younger man's face, he took Billie's lips for his own.  
  
Fuck, sometimes things were just so _simple_.  
  
As their mouths slid together, almost in slow motion, Lars's other hand drifted over the curves of a tattooed shoulder, a subtly muscular arm, a hipbone, to gently grasp the exposed cock beneath him. Deepening the kiss just barely, he began to stroke with the same indolent speed as the rest of his actions.  
  
"Surely I don't need to seduce you after all this time, do I?" he purred innocently into Billie's mouth.  
  
Billie simply moaned in reply, smoothing his palms down the drummer's sides as desire swooped in his stomach, its speed more that of a Ferris wheel than a roller coaster. He enjoyed the slow build of pleasure, skin wakening in increments under Lars's caress.  
  
His hips began to move into that languid hand as heat spread through him. It wasn't urgent – not yet, but he wanted a little more. It didn't surprise him when the rhythm remained exactly the same, the grip unchanged, and need unfurled inside him with the fluttery delicacy of a leaf drifting in a breeze.  
  
"You are such a tease," Billie whispered, breaking the kiss only long enough to breathe the words before returning to the sweetness of Lars's mouth, his tongue delving in to meet and twine and taste. His throat vibrating with moans.  
  
It didn't matter if Billie were the seducer or the seduced, so long as the end result was having the older man's hands on him. A result he tried to achieve as often as possible, both because of the ever-present wanting and because he was not above using his body in a bid for Lars's affections. He knew the drummer hadn't quite moved on from James, and Billie was all right with that for the most part because he also knew that Lars did genuinely care about him, too. But he couldn't help his instinctive need to appeal to Lars, as if the constant physical contact might keep him emotionally invested in Billie, even in the absence of any signal that such action was necessary.  
  
Right now, though, all Billie Joe cared about was the callused palm stroking his erection, and the delicious way it felt, and how it needed to be stronger. He thrust up into that loose fist, his body demanding more. His hands slipped into Lars's swim trunks, cupping his ass and pulling the older man tightly against him in clear invitation.  
  
"No, I don't need you to seduce me." Billie nuzzled the scratchy jaw with his nose, lips moving to drag over the metal hoops in Lars's ear before he continued, "I need you to fuck me."  
  
The hand at Billie's face moved to burrow into messy raven locks, fingertips rubbing at the younger man's scalp, and Lars grinned wickedly. He really did like it a lot when Billie said that. But he still pulled back from the appealing hands on him, raising to his knees, staying close.  
  
"I believe, in some far off time, I've said it before, but I certainly don't mind saying it again," Lars murmured calmly, lifting his head to regard Billie through heavy lidded eyes. A low growl bled into his voice when he continued, dragging his teeth lightly over the other man's reddened bottom lip. " _You'll get what I give you_."  
  
At that, his hand tightened around Billie's now fully hard cock, maintaining the speed but increasing the force. He kissed his lover, slow and deep, body attuned to and revelling in every little twitch, every shiver, every movement that came from his touch.  
  
Lars did and said things sometimes – a lot of times – purely for the reactions they would cause; the same could be said for his relatively new dominance during sex. With Billie, nothing gave him a deeper pleasure than seeing, hearing or feeling the reactions he could gain from a stroke, a kiss, a lick, a growl…anything from the soft whine that followed the sharp nip of teeth against skin, to the way the younger man would sometimes just absolutely go to pieces as he came, body shuddering and bucking, swollen lips wide and wanton, hands clutching shakily at whatever could keep him from floating right off the Earth. Fuck, it was beautiful. Sometimes he was content to crawl all over Billie, tease and tickle, taste and touch, driving him so, so slowly to the brink and finally pushing him over the edge while totally ignoring his own needs. Because sometimes, watching Billie with almost wide-eyed fascination, watching him come like the sky was falling and knowing that it was entirely his doing, was better than an orgasm.  
  
Yeah, seriously. What the fuck was that about?  
  
Smiling into the kiss, answering Billie's moans with his own, Lars shifted his hand to rub his thumb in small, slow circles around the head of the younger man's erection.  
  
"That better?"  
  
A laugh escaped Billie's throat amidst the moans, dark and guttural, completely unlike his usual sunny giggles. More akin to a growl as he opened his eyes to look at his lover, gaze blazing with lust. Even as his body hissed, _Yes,_ his mouth curled into a smirk and he replied, "It'll do for now."   
  
He lost the smirk an instant later as Lars's grip tightened painfully, gasping instead at the reminder that it wasn't the brightest idea to piss off the person holding sensitive parts of your anatomy. Billie took several shallow gulps of air as that too-tight hand continued to stroke, his cock coated in just enough sweat and pre-come to permit the movement. Green eyes bored into him below raised eyebrows.  
  
His hands flexed convulsively on the drummer's back, relegated there when Lars had raised up, fingers digging in in protest even as his hips moved of their own accord, helping the forced slide of flesh. It teetered on the edge of too much and Billie licked lips gone dry before speaking.  
  
"Whatever you give me," he acknowledged, acutely aware that the first time he'd heard those words was when he'd been stretched beneath this man in an act they'd both considered meaningless at the time. Now, the flash of triumph in Lars's eyes prompted a brief smile, gone in the next wave of sensation as the older man's hand shifted again and Billie arched, head tipping back to expose his throat while he struggled to breathe. He was going to come apart right here on the sand and wash out to sea when the tide came in.   
  
"Fuck," he rasped, the next word bleeding into a needy whine. "Lars…"  
  
That look, that whine, the way Billie drew himself entirely open for him, as natural as breathing…Lars shivered lightly despite the heavy Caribbean heat, moving in again to suck down the increasingly desperate little whimpers and whines stuttering from his lover. His grip eased and he slid down Billie's body, knees sinking deeper into the hot sand to push himself back. Accepting the invitation that was given by the reflexive exposure of the smooth neck before him, he tipped his head to rest his mouth lightly against Billie's skin, savouring the anticipation for a few seconds. His hand began to pump, back into its previous rhythm, as he bit down hard and held the skin in a harsh pinch for a drawn out few seconds. He felt Billie's cry vibrate against his lips, then released him.  
  
Licking a trail through the sheen over the younger man's chest, he briefly closed his teeth around Billie's nipple and rubbed his tongue against the trapped flesh, up, down, up, down, some idle thought in the back of his head informing him that his tongue was going twice the speed of his hand. Hey, just because Billie's skin wasn't stretched taut over a drumkit – though that was a nice idea he'd tuck away for now, thanks very much – it didn't mean he couldn't get a good rhythm going.  
  
Descending further, Lars sat back onto his haunches, lustful gaze locked with the man reclining beneath him. Stilling his hand for a moment, he raised his unoccupied hand, index and middle finger raised together. Opening his mouth, he slid them in right to the knuckle, closed his lips around them and drew them back out slowly, leaving them glistening with spit. A filthy smirk found his lips after a measured beat.  
  
"Spread your legs and make a wish, pretty," he murmured, voice thick.  
  
Seconds later, slick fingertips rubbed tauntingly between Billie's asscheeks before pushing slowly inside.  
  
Billie's focus narrowed to the shine on the fingers emerging from Lars's mouth, the very deliberateness of the showy action adding immeasurably to its dirtiness. He breathed in loud gasps, not even registering the volume as his body oriented its attention to its unhurried penetration and the heat emanating from the drummer's eyes, stronger than the sunlight on his skin.  
  
"Oh, God," he moaned, collarbone standing out sharply with each inhalation when his hips started to rock. Keeping time with the fingers fucking into him and the hand pulling insistently at his erection. Conscious of little beyond that twinned sensation and the avid gaze of the man controlling both.  
  
Billie's arms folded behind his head, the positioning letting him watch his lover's eyes on his body. Letting him expose everything as his knees spread wider and his thighs strained. Mouth falling open and sound spilling out, his skull pressing back into the sand to make a little hollow there, every cell chasing the ecstasy that remained just out of reach.  
  
Some time later, it might bother him to have been called 'pretty', but for now it felt right, all of him laid bare and aching with need before his lover. And though the words came easily now – frighteningly so sometimes – it still took some effort to start the imploring flow. His voice rasped through the first few syllables and settled quickly into a rhythm that echoed the one currently owning him.  
  
"Fuck, Lars, please…please, oh God, let me…please, Uli…"  
  
A giddy little swoop dipped through Lars's stomach, sharply contrasting to the dark, intense burn of lust, but complimenting it beautifully and enhancing his pleasure threefold. He may have become less of a control freak in real life – an absurd term, but fucking his boyfriend on a Caribbean beach didn't exactly make for 'a day in the life of Lars Ulrich', more's the pity – but, now he had finally gained it, this was a kind of control he would never give up. Having Billie Joe Armstrong writhing and twisting beneath him, begging, desperate, needy and loving every filthy second of it was something he'd fight for like a goddamned pit bull. Jesus, who wouldn't?  
  
Curving his fingers just so, hitting that little fucking spot with every thrust, Lars increased his speed fractionally and let a pleased little smirk curl his lips. He was so utterly absorbed in mastering every little nuance of Billie's desire and gratification that he could cheerfully ignore the sun beating down brutally on them and the half hard cock in his shorts.   
  
Without warning, the hand at Billie's erection stopped right at the base, and the drummer dropped his head level with it. He licked his lips, delighting in the moment, and then that tongue appeared and pressed up against the underside of the younger man's heated cock, framed by a devilish grin. The wicked device hugging the curve of hard flesh, caressing along each vein until it reached the head, Billie's hips bucking spasmodically and his voice bleeding out some absolutely otherworldly noises. Lars grinned wider as he paused, hovering, before his jaw went slack and he took Billie into his mouth.  
  
Head bobbing slowly, the older man's tongue worked its magic, rippling and flickering and swirling along the sensitive skin with a dizzying speed. The taste of sweat and pre-come hit him, and his eyes slid shut as he moaned against the press of his lover's heavy cock.  
  
Fingers fucking deep into the frontman's ass, thudding into his sweet spot with alarming regularity, tongue twisting around, along and all over his erection, Lars moved his now free hand to rest at Billie's hip, ready to steady him as his cries began spiralling higher.  
  
Billie's desperate pleading lost all resemblance to coherent speech the second that Lars's tongue touched him, the gifted muscle claiming that ability as it drove him right out of his mind. He had to close his eyes against the sight of that wicked grin sparkling on in green eyes when the older man's mouth slid over his cock at last.  
  
It didn't bring relief, not at first, anyway. Pleasure crashed over him and his hips jerked, thrusting uncontrollably as his arms twisted, hands scrabbling uselessly for purchase in the sand. Aware of the palm pressed to his hip as strongly as he was aware of every other point of contact between them, Billie reached down and entwined his fingers with the drummer's. He needed something to hold on to in the whirling maelstrom overtaking him.  
  
Hands locked together, he could feel the way his lover coaxed his own stuttering rhythm into a smoother motion, matching it to the speed of the fingers assaulting his sweet spot until it all blurred into a blinding surge of heat and Billie came with a full-throated scream, a rare indulgence that left him shattered and gasping for air.  
  
In the wake of his powerful orgasm, aftershocks still rippling through his body, Billie was dimly aware of his ass meeting the sand again as Lars set his hips down and that the sunlight felt too hot on his sensitized skin now, sweat dripping from every inch of him.  
  
He had to laugh, though, as he also noticed that he still had on the damn sunglasses.   
  
Billie's scream echoed in Lars's head, heat sliding down his throat as his lover settled back into the sand. The drummer slithered away from Billie, sitting back again and carefully breaking all contact with him but their meshed hands. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, exhaling through pursed lips, and smirked as he wiped at the corner of his mouth, the action both vulgar and proud.  
  
 _Fucking gold star for me, then,_ Lars thought, swelling almost visibly at the strength of Billie's orgasm. He crawled back up level with the younger man's face, smiling in amusement as he reached down to wipe the beads of sweat from the reddened cheeks and hair plastered forehead with his thumb.   
  
"That was a good one, huh?" Lars murmured, a shade of smugness in his affectionate smile. As his hand began moving away, he pulled off the sunglasses that caused all this, uh, 'trouble', and tossed them aside. Then he bent down and pressed a light kiss to each of Billie's eyelids, drawing back and raising Billie's hand towards his lips. He paused, screwing up his nose, seemingly remembering himself. "Don't tell anybody I did that."  
  
Leaving the intended kiss on the back of Billie's hand, the tang of sweat on his tongue, he looked down at his almost back together lover. In the months that had passed since the whirlwind of events that ended with the two of them together, Lars had come to realise, or rather truly admit to himself, that there was definitely something deeper running between them. More meaningful than lust, perhaps even more than just affection. It was still too soon for him to allow himself thoughts of that nature.  
  
Truthfully, it had taken Lars over a month to decide that his relationship with Billie was one worth pursuing. In that month, he was reeling from his split with James, not even beginning the process of getting over him. When he really thought about it, and he had done, at great length, it just fucking floored him. Twenty years, man, it wasn't even something he could fathom.  
  
The first inkling that this relationship was more than he'd thought came two months after the awards party, when he'd realised something. Almost the second James had left the house after their Talk, Lars had called Billie and fucking bawled his eyes out. Harder than he'd done in a long time, trying to force the grief out of him as fast as possible. At the time, he thought he'd called Billie because he was the only one who knew, who might understand. That much was true, but later, much later, he'd realised his main reason for it was that Billie was the first person he'd thought of as the front door swung shut.  
  
The first person he'd thought of running to. Not Kirk, not Bob, not even his father. Billie. He found this very interesting – because he'd never done that with James. He'd wanted to, but never done it, never gotten the balls to be that emotionally open and vulnerable with him. But this time it had been fucking _instinctive_.  
  
Very interesting.  
  
Shaking the serious thoughts away from him, Lars lowered his head to rest it against the younger man's. He smiled wide.   
  
Billie's eyes fluttered open to see that smile right in front of him, and his lips curved to match, Lars's words slowly catching up as the frontman's mind resumed functioning.  
  
"Good one?" he echoed, amused. He could feel how flushed he was and his breathing was less than regular as of yet. "Ha. No. Good was running down the beach. Good was kissing you. _That_ was…" He shrugged a little, smile deepening. "I don't have words for the things you do to me."  
  
He tilted his chin up, raising enough to meet the drummer's mouth in a sweet kiss. "What is it that I'm not supposed to tell people? That you have the best tongue ever?" he teased. Totally ignoring the fit of what passed for propriety in the older man. Billie accepted Lars's discomfort with showing his softer side, and was slowly learning to do what he'd just done: ignore it, knowing full well that it was a kneejerk reaction, and not take it personally. He pressed more kisses to salty lips, tasting his own sweat and come.  
  
"Your secrets are safe with me," he murmured, the statement less facetious than it seemed. Billie freed his fingers and used both hands, capable of movement now, to coax the drummer to flatten over him, tugging gently but insistently until his full weight pressed Billie into the sand and then twining his arms around him, enjoying the feel of having Lars so close.  
  
Looking up into a curious green gaze, Billie spoke seriously. "I'm gonna have a swim, because for some reason I'm all sweaty, sandy and dirty, and then I think I need to get out of the sun for a while. By the time we get back to the villa, I need you to have an answer to a very important question, Uli." The way his eyes danced probably gave him away, but he ploughed ahead anyway, one leg shifting so that his hand could slip between their bodies and cup Lars's half-hard cock. "I need you to know exactly what you want me to do to take care of this."  
  
Lars tried to keep his eyes from lighting up, he really did. After all, he didn't want to seem like some sex-crazed animal that could be swayed so easily by the offer of whatever sexual relief he could dream up. Even though, if this vacation was anything to go by, he was. Alas, his eyes glowed bright and green like Kermit's Christmas tree, and he probably would have crawled on his hands and knees back to the villa if Billie had called for it.  
  
Well, maybe.  
  
"Okay," he drawled, rocking into Billie's accommodating hand a few times as he spoke. "I _guess_ I can wait. I'm gonna need a little while to think of something _innovative_. Feel free to bring your own ideas to the table."  
  
He paused, a devilish grin splitting his face.  
  
"Or wherever we end up."  
  
Stealing a longer kiss from his lover, fingertips stroking lightly down his sides, Lars stood and pulled Billie to his feet, an arm slung around his waist to pull him close. The drummer dipped his head and grazed his teeth over the juncture between Billie's neck and shoulder – a silent promise of what was to come – before bending to pick up his Ray-Bans and sauntering back up the beach, the heat and physical activity too much for him for now.  
  
He slipped on his shades and grinned to himself, licking his lips. Billie always tasted good.  
  
Billie watched him go, smiling at the casual air of 'fuck you' that surrounded Lars even in private most of the time. Of course, that _was_ what the drummer was going to do – in some fashion. His own mind had stuck on the mention of the table after that blatant tease. The little table in the kitchen was sturdy wood. Lightweight, though; it would probably slide across the tiled floor if Lars bent him over the table and fucked him as hard as he usually did. No, Billie wasn't going to be much help in the innovation department this time.  
  
He snorted at the weak spurt of desire at his musing. Jesus Christ but this vacation had reminded him of a honeymoon, both of them unable to get enough. That thought would never get voiced aloud; Billie Joe guarded the strength of his feelings carefully. His wife had forced him to admit to her that he was in love with Lars, but he had not spoken of it to the older man. It wasn't time. In truth, the time for that particular confession might never come. He knew firsthand how devastated Lars had been when he and James had finally talked things out. The brief burst of giddy pride that his new lover had trusted him enough to call had fizzled very quickly into the anxious need to comfort as Lars broke apart over the phone line. He'd babbled meaningless, soothing shit, absolutely aching to go over there and calm him with warm hands and human contact and kisses, and hurting a little himself knowing that it wouldn't be welcome. Even now, months later, Billie knew right down to his bones that the quickest way to lose Lars would be to say, 'I love you'.  
  
Heavy thoughts for a sunny day, especially when one had a lover plotting who knew what wickedness. The frontman let the ocean wash them away along with the sweat and sand, grimacing as the salt water stung in several places where his skin sported abrasions. And also stung his nose and cheekbones, he realised as he ducked under; he must have sweated off all his sunscreen and burnt a little. He smiled ruefully. Like he needed something else to make him look twelve years old.  
  
Billie dried off using the towel he'd dropped under his sun lounger, doing his best to not pouf out his hair too badly, and entered the villa to find that Lars had also rinsed off the sand he'd collected when he'd been tackled on the beach. He lifted his eyebrows at the drummer, giving him a suggestive grin.  
  
"How do you want me?"  
  
 _How about I want you to give me three minutes to eat my fuckin' sandwich?_  
  
Lars thought those words, but didn't say them. In actual fact, he had been working on being less blunt, less insensitive, at least with Billie. His band could take him how he was and like it; they were used to it by now. They'd probably even miss it if he changed around them, he told himself. Besides, it wasn't like he ever really meant things as harshly as he sometimes said them. He was pretty certain that Billie got that that was his way, his sense of humour. He rarely meant any harm by it, and if he ever did, people would certainly know about it. You could see it in his eyes.  
  
So, instead, he rocked from side to side, chewing with his mouth open, and sighed loudly as if turning the options over in his head. He'd already thought something delicious up, but he wanted to keep Billie in suspense. He stood there rocking, chewing and mulling, not saying a word to the waiting frontman. His eyes, still hidden behind his sunglasses, would roam around the room and settle on Billie, drawing themselves up his naked body and drifting away, as if totally unfazed. Popping the last chunk of his sandwich into his mouth, Lars walked past his lover back out onto the veranda. He picked up the ice bucket and his champagne flute, then came back inside, giving Billie a quick smack on the ass as he passed him.  
  
"Come on, then," he said airily.


	2. Chapter 2

Lars led them through to the other side of the villa, where their large conservatory stood. One that was plunged into the thick, heavy spread of lush green forest and sprayed with occasional flashes of colourful flowers. One that contained their jacuzzi.  
  
The drummer flicked on the bubbles, then padded over to the jacuzzi, set down the ice bucket and took off his shorts, beckoning Billie to follow. Eventually, he was all prepared – two glasses of champagne ready and waiting, the soothing bubbles dancing all along his bare skin, Billie sitting opposite him as he spread his arms and laid them along the edge like he was sat on some watery throne. He picked up his glass, sipping from it as he pulled his sunglasses down to peer over them, eyes radiating lust.  
  
"So, Armstrong," he began quietly, calmly. "I hear you like touching yourself during your shows. I kind of wonder if you're actually jerking off or if you're faking it, but it doesn't really matter right now. I want to see it for real, for _me_. I want to know what you look like when you're alone and you're thinking dirty thoughts about me. I want you to get my dick hard."  
  
He pushed the sunglasses back up and took another sip of his champagne. "So touch yourself."  
  
Billie stared at him, flummoxed. Wasn't this supposed to be about getting _Lars_ off? And had he forgotten what had just happened out on the beach? Granted, it had been longer ago than he'd thought; he hadn't paid much attention to the time while playing in the salt waves but since the older man had had the chance to not only clean off the sand, but make and eat a sandwich, it had to have been a while. Well, mostly eat. Billie still felt like an ass for strolling in and propositioning him without even noticing the food until the words were already out there, and the drummer's silence hadn't made him feel any more comfortable. He was kind of surprised he hadn't gotten verbally thwacked for that one. He supposed the swat to his ass counted instead.   
  
All that aside, an hour at most had passed and he wasn't the teenager he'd been acting like and…that wasn't the issue anyway. He could at least admit it to himself, if not out loud: he had stagefright. He'd had other people in the room before when he jerked off, usually drunk, stoned or both; he occasionally did it for real on stage; but he'd never done it expressly for an audience of one and it felt vulnerable, especially when he already felt out of sorts and unsure. If not for the searing lust in those green eyes when the sunglasses had been briefly shifted, he might wonder if this particular activity had been chosen so Lars could avoid touching him.  
  
He snorted inwardly. Okay, that? _That_ was girly. That might be the girliest fucking thought he'd ever had. It wasn't that complicated: he'd offered whatever Lars wanted, and this was it. Therefore, this was what he'd be getting. One way or another. Billie Joe Armstrong was not going to back out of a deal.  
  
"All right," he murmured, sounding less certain than he would have liked. He looked at his lover a moment more and then closed his eyes as his fingers curled around his soft cock below the water line.   
  
Billie needed to find that place inside his head that allowed him to be who he was on stage, without getting the adrenalin rush and several songs' worth of self-psyching to reach it. He began by replaying the recent events outside, realising as he did so that that part of him also came alive naturally during sex – or sex with Lars, at least – and rediscovering both the drummer's pleasure in watching him and his own urge to display. None of it was new knowledge but it seemed very different when trying to go from zero to sixty by himself.  
  
His mind ranged farther, dipping into fantasy now, stock images at first that faded into darker imaginings. The kinds of things he'd used to cut through Mike's sweetness, minus the guilt because this was what Lars had asked him to do. And darker yet, etched with acts Billie had never done – wasn't sure he would, in daylight – but they filled him up, surged through him in purpled fire and always, always there were green eyes, burning right through his skin.  
  
He hadn't noticed the soft moans floating over the steamy water, or how laboured his breathing had grown, but his hand was aware of the hard flesh sliding through his fist, and every inch of him was aware that he was performing this act right in front of his lover's face.  
  
Even as Billie thought it the images rose: straddling the drummer's chest, hand on his own cock _right there_ , but the positioning seemed all wrong to his fuzzed brain and it nudged things. On a table, maybe, or—  
  
 _On a tiled tub surround._ He sucked in a breath and his eyes snapped open to catch a faint smile before it disappeared behind the champagne flute. A little voice knocked crazily at its prison door, shouting that he'd be embarrassed as fuck later if he did this, but strangely the risk of humiliation only stoked the flames. Hazel eyes blazed bright and he stood.  
  
Water sheeted from his body as he nimbly climbed out of the jacuzzi and knelt at the corner where the drummer reclined. Feet flexed beneath him for better leverage, knees spread obscenely wide for the best possible view, Billie stared at himself in reflective lenses, feeling the heat he knew was behind there. His chest rose and fell in a sharp, shallow rhythm and he felt lightheaded, drunk on desire and high on the need to please.   
  
He raised one hand and licked his palm. Slowly, his tongue wandering over the lines and crevices, eyes still locked with the ones he couldn't see but that he knew watched him, watched every dirty little thing he was doing and by their owner's very silence asked for more.  
  
His open hand drifted down his torso, spit-slicked shine clearly visible until the roughened fingers closed over the fullness of his erection in a tight ring and he broke the silence, voice a harsh growl.  
  
"You want a real show?"  
  
Billie let his head fall back, his lips parting to let guttural moans escape. The muscles in his arm stood out, straining, as he forcibly held his hand steady and his hips began to move.  
  
 _Now where the fuck does he think he's—oh._ The thought cut off in Lars's head as Billie settled near him, and the drummer briefly quirked an eyebrow in curiosity. He hadn't told Billie he had to stay in the jacuzzi, but he hadn't expected the younger man to get out, either.  
  
Lars, in giving Billie his instructions, had issued a challenge; they both knew that. Some distant memory reminded him that he'd been issued the same challenge a long time ago, and after the initial spluttering outrage at having to do all the work, his mind had snapped into 'fuck you' mode and he'd done it, done it really fucking well, thanks very much. Lars guessed, as tattooed hips rolled up with liquid ease into a stilled hand, that Billie's mind might possibly have entered that same mode. The corners of his mouth curved up into a small, admiring smile, and he sipped silently at his champagne.  
  
His own cock, growing steadily in the water, remained untouched – the combination of the bubbles skittering along his flesh and the sight of Billie not just jerking off, that didn't do the act justice, but _fucking himself_ was doing everything he needed for now. His heated gaze roamed over his lover's glistening body, following its contours and movements, tongue occasionally flicking out to swipe at his top lip. Fuck, this was better than he'd thought. A _lot_ better.  
  
After giving Billie a few more moments to himself, Lars drained his flute and pulled himself halfway out of the tub, knees resting on the seat and forearms on the tiles. He leaned towards his lover, a wicked little smirk ghosting onto his lips.  
  
"Mmmm," he moaned softly. He laboured his breathing and continued. "That's good, fuck…feels really good…ah…Billie, nnngh, oh God… _ah_!"  
  
His voice grew higher in pitch, more desperate sounding, twisting out gasped moans and needy whines, fueling his own desire until he felt his cock begin to throb insistently. Then, just as suddenly as he started, Lars stopped.  
  
"Good job. Back in the tub when you're ready, Billie," he drawled darkly, slight breathlessness in his voice. "I'm not done with you yet."   
  
The noises emanating from the man watching him had spurred Billie on, right until they were suddenly replaced by calm statements. _'Good job'? Did he…is that it? I don't get to touch him or-or anything?_ His rhythm sputtered and slowed, unsure of the meaning of 'when you're ready' and a vague sense of disappointment drifted through him as he tried to understand. Was he supposed to…  
  
 _He told you to jerk off for him. He never said you should come._  
  
His whole body went still, arm muscles relaxing as his hand dropped to his side. Breathing heavily, he gave his head a quick shake to dislodge the damp curls from his forehead and reached for his as yet untouched champagne.  
  
His fingers halted a mere inch from the crystal and he glanced at Lars questioningly, continuing the motion when he received a barely perceptible nod and draining the contents of the flute in one go. The effervescent liquid soothed his throat but did nothing to clarify his thoughts or his feelings. Instead of the water being in the bubbling pool beside him, it felt more like it was well over his head, making his worldview ripple and dance. Skewing his senses.   
  
Billie shuffled to a clear access spot on his knees, not bothering to stand only to descend into the steaming warmth. An unnoticed whimper escaped as he submerged most of his body, sense of touch heightened almost unbearably so that he felt the caressing glide of bubbles along his skin even as he carefully avoided the jets and settled back into the seat opposite Lars. Sound, too, was enhanced; the low hum of the jacuzzi motor purred through him like an enthusiastic kitten kneading his chest. His vision seemed to focus on certain colours more than others and only those in his direct field of view, for that matter: the periphery went unseen. Scent was the same way. Even through the chemical tang of the steam he could detect the unique spiciness of the Dane.   
  
He sank lower in the water, letting his head loll back and drawing in deep breaths full of Lars. Dizzy with arousal, or something like that. He told himself to get a grip. A case of blue balls wasn't going to kill him, even the worst one he'd ever had. The drummer had used those incredible hands and mouth on Billie before and gone home unfulfilled; he could do the same. Surely he wasn't that selfish.  
  
Billie Joe remained quiet for several minutes, letting his mind float as much as his body and trying not to pay attention to the slight annoyance that began to develop when he proved to be less than fully capable of ignoring the continued hypersensitivity, his erection twitching in a bid for attention every time either of them shifted and sent little waves through the jacuzzi.  
  
Suddenly he lifted his head and stared at Lars. "Wait a sec, what? Not done with me?" In his confusion about what was going on, he hadn't even registered the older man's last comment until this moment. When a blank stare was his only answer, Billie rolled his eyes and then rubbed wet palms across his face, shoving his unruly hair back again. "You know what, never mind. I'm just gonna admit that I'm, uh, I'm not following along too clearly right now and I'd probably get a brain hernia if I tried to understand everything you do, anyway. I said anything you wanted and I did what you asked."  
  
Still no response and he shook his head with a rueful smile. Those pretty green eyes were often a dead giveaway for Lars's emotions but they were still obscured by tinted plastic. "Should've known you'd never take those off once you got them back." He relaxed back into his slouch, smile remaining in place as he mumbled to himself. Completely unaware that he'd spoken aloud. "Doesn't matter why you asked, only that you did."  
  
Dear Jesus suffering _fuck_ , Lars had to bite back a face-splitting grin each time Billie spoke. He very nearly laughed when Billie finally caught up with everything he'd said. He was supremely grateful for the Ray-Bans, too, because his eyes were dancing with wicked glee.  
  
Lars was content, and had been since telling the other man to get back in the jacuzzi, to sit there in the tingling caress of the bubbles for another…ooh, let's see, how long before Billie's balls – or his head – would explode? Maybe another ten minutes. He hadn't laid one finger on himself or Billie, so he was perfectly happy to sit there in a steady state of arousal for a while yet. For a second, he even entertained the thought of feigning sleep, before deciding that it was maybe going too far.  
  
So, after a couple more minutes of stony silence, Lars moved, crossing the gap between them. Suddenly he was right there, looming over Billie (and anyone who is five foot six and can successfully loom has got to have some kudos), knees either side of the younger man's hips, shoulders hunched, arms poker straight, hands curled around the metal handrail that hugged the edge of the tub. A beat, and he smiled.  
  
"Yeah, good job. What're we gonna do now, huh?" The question was rhetorical, but he let it hang there for a few moments anyway. "Okay, you said, in not so many words, anything I wanted, right? Well, seeing as I did the work last time, I'm not gonna do any of it this time."  
  
The utter bewilderment on Billie's face was absolutely priceless. If Lars wasn't in the middle of something, he'd go get the camera. The drummer licked at his top lip and leaned in a little closer.  
  
"You're going to fuck me."  
  
He moved his hands, dipping them under the water and resting them on the inside of Billie's thighs, feeling the skin jump at the sudden touch. As he continued talking, he smoothed up and down, along the heated flesh. "Now before you get any ideas, let me just clarify – technically, I am going to be fucking you. But I'm going to sit back where I was, I'm going to wrap my hands around that handrail and I'm not going to do anything else. I don't care how you do it, but you're going to get on my dick and move that whiplash little body of yours in all the nasty ways you know how, until I come."  
  
At that, Lars closed the gap between them and kissed his lover, long and slow, tongue sliding in and tasting. He really, really enjoyed doing that. Not the mindfuckery, though that was fucking delicious, but kissing Billie. Mainly for the simple reason that the younger man was very, very good at it. When he broke off the kiss, he licked at Billie's top lip and repeated his initial statement. "You're going to fuck me."  
  
Then he moved back onto his seat just as he said he would, hands around the rail to steady himself. His skin was truly awake now, electricity dancing just beneath the surface, his heartbeat sending ripples of heat through his entire body. He spread his legs, settled a little lower and finally took off the sunglasses, placing them on the side and locking his lustrous, ravenous green eyes with Billie's, gaze dark and electric. His lips twisted into an oh-so-filthy 'come and get me' smirk, and he braced himself.  
  
The eye contact was what finally drew Billie across to his lover, giving him a sense of connection after spending so long without seeing the only part of Lars that he had any prayer of being able to read. He simply looked for a moment and then his thumb drifted across one cheekbone before cupping that stubborn jaw and leaning in for a kiss.  
  
His knees settled on either side of the seated man in a reverse echo of their kiss just past. Billie realised almost immediately that this position wasn't going to work: the carved contours of the sculpted acrylic seats were directly beneath his kneecaps. He could bang the hell out of his knees, he supposed, but there _was_ another way.  
  
He deepened the kiss, letting his comfort in that act bolster his confidence, and moved to whisper in the drummer's ear. "Fasten your seatbelt and hang on to the handrail 'cause your ride is about to begin."  
  
That earned him a laugh. Billie flashed a smile and turned around, sliding down the other man's torso without pause, one hand reaching to guide Lars's erection to his pucker and inside him as he pushed straight down.  
  
A complicated sort of whine emerged through the teeth embedded in his bottom lip as pleasure shocked up his spine, snapping him into a rigid line. His fingers dug into Lars's sides where instinct had flung his hands.  
  
Billie had thought to do it fast and get it over, because no way could he take slow penetration right now, but with as much experience as he'd gained in being strung out on desire in the last few months, he had still not expected the power of his physical reaction. Even knowing how incredibly sensitive he was at this moment. He had nothing to compare this to – he had never been taken this far.  
  
But it didn't matter, did it? If he gave up, Lars would win. The only way through this was to drive his lover insane for a change, because if Lars came, then Billie won. And he wanted to win. He knew, somewhere in his head, that the drummer was pushing him deliberately and he was fucking well going to push back. That was who he was.  
  
Ruthlessly Billie brought his body under control. Hazing out his senses so he could concentrate entirely on his lover's reactions and needs. _What you feel doesn't matter right now. Only what he feels – only what you_ make _him feel. This isn't about you, only him. Only Lars.  
  
It's not about you._  
  
He let the mantra sink in a moment longer and then released his grip on Lars's sides, giving the abused skin an apologetic pat before his hands rose higher and slipped under the drummer's biceps, gripping the handrail. Aloud, all he offered was, "Excuse the, uh, technical difficulties."  
  
His legs spread wide, trapping the bracketing set against the sides of the jacuzzi seats, and Billie leaned forward as far as he could from his backstretched arms, angling his pelvis so that every thrust would go good and deep; and then he got to work.  
  
His hips began to roll, body undulating in a punishing rhythm as he used the twin leverage of his arms and legs to lift his ass almost too high and then slam down again and again, flesh slapping hard against Lars and water splashing everywhere. He never missed, too preternaturally aware of exactly where every inch of the erection pressed inside him was at all times. Almost no noise escaped though his throat vibrated with it; the moans swirled in his mouth, trapped behind teeth gritted in sheer determination.   
  
In the pleasure consuming him with each brutal, magnificent thrust, in the heat of this hell and bliss, Billie Joe lost everything but his mantra and the iron-clad need to keep going until his lover found release.  
  
Taut, indefinable noises leaked from Lars's throat as Billie moved, expert hips rolling beautifully against his, knowing the exact where and how and when of his pleasure like they'd been doing this for years. He had to fight hard against the desire to touch, to hold, to grip, to set his teeth into the tanned back that was before him, it was so _inviting_. He twisted his hands tighter around the rail and sucked in a deep breath, letting it stutter forth, entwined with a throaty moan. For what must have been the billionth time since that awards ceremony, Lars thanked his own verbosity and foul fucking mood in that bar so many moons ago that had brought his fate crashing into Billie's. Fucking hell, Billie was _good_.  
  
Through the choking fog of pleasure that muted most of his senses, Lars finally realised that he could hear nothing from his lover over the violently splashing water, no sounds of ecstasy, no choked off curses, nothing. Initial thinking that Billie was not gaining any pleasure from this – how the fuck was that possible, was he conscious? – was ruled out by a sideways glance to see tattooed knuckles gone white from their grip on the handrail. Eyes almost rolling in his head, Lars brought his gaze back to the tremble of dark hair before him.  
  
 _Oh, fuck you,_ he thought, a laugh sputtering forth through the moans. He decided to break his promise of doing nothing and began to meet Billie's downward thrusts with his own upward ones, falling into rhythm with him, hips thudding hard together. Stunningly, Billie managed to keep his silent resolve, and all it served to do was make his own cries shudder higher. Giving in, he stilled, head lolling back to rest against the edge of the tub.   
  
"Oh, fuck, that's good," he breathed, voice a whine, body burning. He smirked. "Have – ahh! – have you been…taking lessons? Fuck!"  
  
Billie's response – if there even was one, Lars had no idea – was lost as the entire lower half of Lars's body tensed, sharp spike of pleasure taking him by surprise and ripping a loud, harsh cry from his throat. He pressed his head back hard against the tile, eyes shut and mouth wide, losing all semblance of coherence as Billie pushed him harder. All this time, Billie had not and did not let up, keeping his powerful rhythm, driving Lars higher like some hedonistic Energizer bunny.   
  
Heat suddenly spread through Lars's stomach, his thighs, making him shudder violently. "Billie, I'm gonna—!"  
  
So sudden that he barely even felt it coming, Lars's orgasm slammed into him with all the force of a ten tonne hammer, swallowing him whole.  
  
He would never remember exactly what happened for thirty seconds after it hit him. Like some memory wiping bomb had just gone off inside him, he felt his spine arch to the point of pain, one heart-stopping second of intense bliss that he couldn't even fathom, and then nothing. Colour, sound, pleasure, pain, all went into one and whited out.  
  
When he came to – because that's what it felt like, as if he'd been knocked right the fuck out – his limp body throbbed in a way that he decided was pleasant, his vision crackled at the edges as he stared blankly up at the glass ceiling, his arms were cramped to hell and fastened to the handrail, and there was something nearby making a noise like asthmatic bellows. He didn't even consider that it might be him.  
  
Once Billie felt Lars spasm and jerk beneath him in a beautiful symphony he finally stopped, slumping forward with his chin dropping to his collarbone. He was vaguely aware that it meant he'd accomplished what he'd set out to do, and there was some pride associated with that somewhere, but it and everything else had been wiped almost totally blank by the white noise cloaking him, arousal buzzing through his system at painfully high levels.  
  
He couldn't seem to let go of the railing at first, maintaining the white-knuckled grip until he felt Lars's arms move and Billie startled, bringing his hands down to block himself off and emitting a squeak of alarm. "No don't!"   
  
The abrupt movement upset his balance and he collapsed back against the older man's chest with a piteous moan, face turning into Lars's neck as he slurred, "Can't touch. If you touch me, I'll… Can't touch." Despite the statement, the full skin-to-skin contact soothed him but it also disturbed, adding another layer of sensation to his overtaxed body.  
  
Billie pressed open-mouthed kisses along what flesh he could easily reach. Anything else was too much effort. He did make an attempt at slightly clearer speech, though, needing in some fashion to be sure that his lover had gotten what he wanted. He had heard every sound coming from Lars – felt each one strike the soles of his feet and starburst through his nervous system – but the pitch and the intonation were his only clues to understand them; he had not been able to hold onto the words.  
  
"S'good then, you're happy? Y'sounded amazing." Blurred vision caught the smudges his kisses had left and he frowned, wanting to wipe them off but unable to lift a hand that far. "Messy. Sorry." He pressed his nose against the reddened skin anyway and inhaled. Just then the drummer shifted and Billie whimpered, arms wrapping around his own waist in a futile gesture of protection against further stimulation.  
  
"Oh fuck please don't move, Uli. Please? Jus' gimme a minute an'…just another minute, okay? Just 'til I can breathe." He mouthed the drummer's throat, bitten and bleeding lip already forgotten again. Softly he added, "S'not about me," as if that would make Lars understand.  
  
He wasn't _trying_ to hold out anymore; he was simply doing it, breath shuddering in and out of his lungs as he hung there, too inexperienced in this to know how to remove the noose that he'd tightened around his own mind.  
  
"I made sound?" Lars said in a wobbly, bewildered voice that he might have hated, were he more on the planet. He licked his lips a few times and spoke again slowly, deliberately. "Um, Billie, I haven't come like that in ten years, and last time I think it was because I was completely sideways on cocaine. So I think you can draw your own conclusions from that."  
  
He winced as the pain from his cramped arms grew, and he finally saw fit to release the handrail from its deathgrip, raising his head and slowly flexing his arms. Billie's plea for stillness reached his ears, and he blinked. _Holy fuck, he_ still _hasn't…_  
  
An incredulous smile grew on his face, and he stifled an affectionate chuckle that might cause Billie to dissolve, or something.  
  
"What did you think was gonna happen, holding out like that?" he murmured. Seeing Billie in such a fragile – well, _volatile_ state, and the fact that he hadn't yet touched his lover, just made Lars want to wrap around him and drop kisses all over him, nip at wet skin and surround him, protectively almost. It was an odd desire for him, one he'd never really given thought to before. One he had only experienced with Billie. Being explicitly told that he couldn't do those things, however, added a whole new dimension to it, and the expected insolent instinct to disobey never came. In its place was a dull ache in his chest that he couldn't define, and concern. Weird.  
  
Dismissing them for now, Lars kept his body still, which wasn't so much of a challenge when he was still weak as a wet noodle. He tilted his head until he could see Billie's face. "I guess the bubbles aren't helping either, huh? Just breathe deep and ride it out a little bit. Settle yourself down, and then I'll take care of it for you, if you want." He took a deep breath himself, as if to demonstrate, and addressed Billie's earlier question. "I couldn't be happier, thank you. But you're a fuckin' moron for pulling that off."  
  
Unable to deny himself one little indulgence at Billie's expense, and too fucked to care about how soft he was being, Lars pressed a featherlight kiss onto the top of the younger man's head and spoke in a voice just above a whisper. "You're _my_ fuckin' moron."  
  
Light though it had been, the kiss made Billie's scalp tingle. He obediently took several deep breaths. The oxygen cleared his head a bit and his mouth wavered between a smile and a frown as he struggled to articulate his scattered thoughts.  
  
"You weren't supposed to have to do anything. I wanted…I wanted to please _you_ this time." He shook his head slightly, lips deciding on an ironic half-smile. "But if you're offering then yes, please."  
  
Defenseless hazel eyes stared up at Lars and Billie's voice dropped to a whisper. "Please touch me."  
  
The first light brush of fingers over his erection had his hips shooting forward and he cried out at the extra friction as his lover's softened cock slipped out of him with the violent motion. His ass landed on hastily-closed, solid thighs and his head slid to the side, coming to rest against the rounded edge of one shoulder.  
  
He met a green gaze warm with amusement, smiling a little as the drummer quirked an eyebrow in silent query. Billie felt almost like he was poised to get a new tattoo – a big one. The kind that made his skin shiver in anticipation of acute sensation that rode the edge of being too much when it was coloured in, the needle stroking over the same patch again and again and knowing the entire time that there was an instant escape clause because the feeling stopped as soon as the needle lifted; but it was a fleeting escape because it also left everything changed in its wake.  
  
Maybe it was that comparison streaking through his mind; maybe it was the remnants of the fantasies he'd invited to storm him earlier. Perhaps it was as simple as the fact that he and his lover both had pushed him this far combining with curiosity about whether he could take it all the way, and the knowledge given by that one brief touch that there was no way for this to be pure pleasure, anyway.  
  
Whatever the reason, Billie's eyes burned as he looked at Lars, the desire in them swirling darker and dirtier than any he'd shown before. He unfurled his arms, snaking one up and around the drummer's neck and the other clutching the arm that supported his head, then licked his lips, tasting his own sweat and blood as he finally replied to the unspoken question in a low rasp. "Make it hurt."  
  
Though Lars was admittedly mildly taken aback by the murky shine in Billie's eyes, he couldn't deny that those words were exactly what the dark little animal inside him had been praying to hear. Anticipation scraped a solitary fingernail down his spine, anticipation for something that could be monumental, something new for them to experience. Some new boundary for Billie to cross, and it would be Lars's doing. His expression shifted smoothly from soft affection to depraved lust, renewed heat rippling into his eyes.  
  
Lars had never truly thought this bristling sexual aggression was in him; he'd never really given much thought to it at all. With women, he was smooth, charming, fuck, even romantic. Loyal and incredibly charismatic, he'd take huge delight in lavishing his lady with gifts and gestures just to see her eyes light up. During sex, he'd lavish the same attention, but it was…it was vanilla. There was barely a hint of the aggression he'd experience elsewhere.  
  
With James he was certainly aggressive, but being the submissive he was, though impertinent, it mostly emerged as passive. That relationship was a sharp contrast to ones he had with women – even in the last couple of years it was sure as hell never romantic. There were almost constant battles, verbal, physical, even sexual battles for dignity and respect and power. Having said that, even though it was difficult to keep secret and in the same hand to keep alive when in the public eye as much as they were, difficult to keep fighting for and against each other because that was the only way they knew how, and utterly fucking exhausting on all levels a lot of the time, it didn't mean that there wasn't the most intense love between them. It was certainly the strongest Lars had ever felt for anybody, that went without saying.  
  
Then there was Billie. Billie was an anomaly. Perhaps it had been his timing, perhaps his attitude, perhaps the pretty pout of his lips and dark glitter of his hazel eyes. Whatever it was, the switch was flicked, the floodgates were opened, and a bunch of other clichés as Lars had invited him into that darkened booth. Billie had barged into Lars's life, head and heart like he owned the place, and had somehow managed to encourage a sort of insane balance in him between the romantic charmer that rained down kisses and wanted nothing more than to envelop and nuzzle and hold, and this newly released, newly realised creature that wanted to bite, to scratch, to growl, to hurt, to _own._   
  
Lars raised his hand and, ignoring his still aching arms, pulled Billie's head to the side to growl against his ear. "Anything you say, Billie."  
  
Then his teeth were at Billie's shoulder, sinking deep, one hand splayed and dragging nails across his chest, and the other grasping his cock and pumping it with incredible ferocity. He arched up and braced himself against his lover, still biting, breath hissing against the bloody wound with the sudden activity, and gave Billie the overwhelming release he desired.  
  
The growl prompted a hitching moan; nothing undid Billie faster than the sound of Lars's voice when in full-on aggression. Teeth cut into his flesh and he jolted back with a whine, held in place by piercing fingernails that he stopped noticing a breath later because the drummer's hand closed hard around his erection with a vicious pull and Billie was screaming, screaming, screaming as his body became one long, tortured nerve ending that exploded like a fireball, blazing through everything in its path until it was overtaken by darkness.  
  
When he regained awareness, the first thing he registered was the scent of his lover's skin where his face pressed against a bare neck, and that he was seated properly on the sturdy lap with arms wrapped around him. Billie felt amazingly safe there, if a little foolish for having passed out. The next thing was the cacophony of aches.  
  
"Oh, Christ," he murmured, wincing at how raw his voice sounded. His shoulder throbbed from the older man chomping on him like an apple; his ass was sore as hell; and his dick hadn't quite made up its mind if it was happy with him or not, but it was leaning towards yes since it was absolutely fucking _spent_.  
  
In fact, all of him was spent, sagging with fatigue but also with total satiation. For the first time since Billie Joe had met Lars Ulrich, he felt not a smidgeon of desire for him. What had happened had deeply satisfied him on every possible level and that was something he needed to think about. Later, when he had a brain worth speaking of.  
  
Or now, when it insisted on running in tired, stupid circles despite his weariness. He'd read up a little on BDSM when he and Adrienne had first started playing around, and he'd thought he understood the concept of headspace. But the episodes with his wife and this experience with his lover were like…like pop quizzes versus final exams. Jesus, he must be out of it if he was constructing school-related analogies.  
  
A little laugh trembled out and Billie lifted his head, even though it felt heavy as all fuck and kind of wobbled on top of his neck like a newborn's. He slipped a hand into damp long-ish hair and pressed, weakly but insistently, until his lover tilted his head forward and kissed him. Billie sighed, the humming contentment of earlier in the day returning to vibrate against Lars's mouth. He had no idea what it meant that he instinctively felt this good about figuring out he was pretty much a shameless slut. Something else to shove into the 'Later' pile.  
  
"Can we get out of the tub now? I think I need to lie down for a while," he admitted, eyelashes fluttering closed and then opening again in inadvertent, slow-motion coquetry. He leaned his forehead on the stubbled jaw, it being the easiest part to reach; and not looking directly at Lars also made it a little easier to say, "Thank you."  
  
"'Thank you' always sounds weird to me," Lars mused aloud. Then he added, somewhat ruefully, "Sounds like something you should say to a bank teller or some kid at Taco Bell or a hooker. Like I did you a service, or something." He rubbed his cheek against Billie's forehead, voice dropping a little further. "I enjoyed it too, y'know."  
  
Shaking off the doleful tone before it tainted this marvellous afterglow, Lars smirked softly and shifted his grip on Billie, rubbing his thumb up and down the younger man's tattooed bicep. "You're welcome. Besides, I think you did all your thanking when you nearly blew my fuckin' ears out with all that screaming. We're probably gonna get people running in here thinking I killed you." He licked his lips, tasting blood and grinning over the tang. He spoke as if he were a drunk reaching an epiphany, boyish awe and excitement hushing his voice. "Fuck, that was incredible, though, right? How did it feel? You just fucking _disappeared_ , like, suddenly possessed. Has anyone ever told you that sometimes you come like a banshee?"  
  
Lars was acutely aware that what he'd just witnessed, heard and felt, what he'd finally put into motion was both beyond adequate description and something he'd probably never witness in quite the same way again, if at all. His memory of it, then, would be swallowed up and kept forever. One for the record books, the family album and the Walk of Fame, man.  
  
Sore points of his own were starting to make themselves known – sore ass from sitting in one spot, damn sore arms from their deathgrip on the handrail, a headache from the noise and strenuous activity, numb thighs from having Billie sitting on them for a while, and for some reason a sore shin. Maybe he kicked out at something, maybe he was kicked, Lars had no fucking idea. That was good. It was good to be fucked so very senseless that an injury of unknown origin suddenly appeared. Hey, better that than one gotten from a drunken night out.  
  
His hands were pruny, too. Yeah, time to get out of the water.  
  
Before that, though, he craned his neck to look at the man still held fast in his arms. "You've gotta kiss me one more time before I let you go," he said matter-of-factly, eliciting a weary chuckle from his lover. Without waiting for much more consent, the drummer dipped down and pressed a soft kiss to those damaged, full lips. His arms slid from around Billie's marked chest. "I would offer to carry you out, but I guess I'm just not that chivalrous." _Except for the fact that I was absolutely thinking about it, but it's too wet, I'm too tired and I don't feel like throwing my back out, old fogey that I am._  
  
Billie moved as Lars's arms dropped away, turning towards his lover and straddling him for a moment to kiss him properly in a languid dance of flavours. He giggled, blinking slowly as he pulled back.  
  
"You kinda did do me a service, not letting me be a total fucking moron. I was all prepared to just keep hanging there…" His eyes dropped, brow creasing faintly as the flippant words rang a little too true. He'd needed overt permission to come. He had _asked_ it of Lars many, many times – right from their first time in that long-ago motel room. But it had been asking; it had been done because he knew Lars enjoyed hearing it and because Billie liked how it made him feel. Until now, though, it had been more in the nature of role-playing. This time he had truly _needed_ it. If his lover had not explicitly offered to take care of him, Billie would still be strung out in a crippling fog of arousal.  
  
That, too, he labelled 'Later' and gave a smile as he floated into the centre of the tub and submerged to his chin. He hissed as the chlorinated water stung the brand new wounds but the chemicals would disinfect them well enough that he could forget about dealing with them until he woke up. Everything could fucking wait until he woke up.  
  
To that end, Billie clambered out of the tub one limb at a time and promptly flattened on the cold tiles when he tried to get up. He snorted at the laughter coming from somewhere above him. "Fuck off, dude. Next time you make me fuck you through the floor it better be in a bed or somewhere where I can just collapse and die afterwards." The implications of what he'd said didn't occur to him; nor did those of his practical conclusion that the easiest way to get from the conservatory to the bedroom in his current state of limp exhaustion was going to be on his hands and knees. He'd spent lots of time doing it while playing with his kids, or searching for the family cat who was a hide and seek fiend. And it was something he did for Adrienne, on those nights or afternoons when they blocked out the world.  
  
Billie simply started to crawl, his only second thought being that he was glad he'd turned around earlier and spared his kneecaps or even this much would have been near impossible. And then an electronic version of his own voice shrilled through the villa, providing an instant shot of adrenalin that lent him the energy to jump to his feet and sprint to the bedroom.  
  
 _Do you have the time, to listen to me whine?_  
  
He flipped open the cell phone with the customary thought flitting past that it was a good thing his wife had a sense of humour, forgetting it in the next instant as he demanded breathlessly, "Adie? What happened?"  
  
" _Relax, it's a 411 not a 911,_ " her familiar voice crackled to life on the other end. One of the many things Lars had checked out when reserving this incredible place was whether it had any reception, and being a resort that catered to those for whom money was no object, it did. Billie had been grateful at the time.  
  
"You scared the shit out of me for nothing then?"  
  
" _Sorry, babe. What were you doing that has you sounding so scratchy? You're not getting sick, are you?_ "  
  
"Coming like a banshee. What did you…" he trailed off in horrified embarrassment. Oh fuck, had he really just said that? Her sputtering giggles confirmed that he had and Billie groaned. "Stop laughing at me. Why'd you call, really?"  
  
Her amusement was still clear as day when she answered, " _Jake decided right after you left that he wants a Hawaiian shirt as a souvenir. He's asked about it every day so I figured I'd better let you know. Before you ask, Joey doesn't care what you bring him as long as it's black._ " Fond exasperation joined in her voice.  
  
"Seriously? You've been letting Tré talk fashion to him, haven't you? Okay, I'll check and see what I can get on the mainland or just pick something up in San Francisco before I come home. Do you want anything specific?" He didn't want to think about what his oldest son's recent predilection for all black meant, beyond finding his own clothes going missing. He wasn't ready for the teenage years yet.  
  
" _Hmm. How about a nice, deep bitemark around my tattoo?_ " she purred.  
  
"Adrienne!" His eyes widened at that suggestion, picturing a reddened circle around the small 80 etched on his hip, and she laughed at his shocked tone.  
  
" _Kidding. If you want the truth, Billie, what I would like more than anything is for Lars to come for dinner at the house sometime soon. You've been seeing him for months now and I don't think I've said more than a dozen words to the man. I want to get to know him a little better. It's important to me, because I know how you feel about him._ "  
  
"I'll ask him," he promised. What else could he do? Billie knew it would make his lover uncomfortable – him, too, for that matter – but their relationship existed at his wife's tolerance, and it wasn't that unreasonable a request to make in that context.  
  
" _Good. By the sounds of things, Mr. Banshee, you should have a_ lovely _long flight home tomorrow,_ " Adrienne drawled.  
  
He winced at the reminder and the mocking nickname both. "Oh you are an evil bitch. You know that, right?"  
  
Her warm laughter sounded again. " _I love you too, babe. See you when you get home._ " With that she hung up, not even letting him verbally reciprocate and he had to smile as he put the phone back on the dresser.  
  
His expression became more uncertain as he turned to face Lars, not knowing how much of the conversation he'd overheard. Billie hoped that they could at least put off any serious discussion until after he'd gotten some rest because he could feel the way his thoughts had begun to swirl round in his head, and he knew that when his personal resources were this low he was far more vulnerable to the panic attacks his lover still didn't know he suffered from.  
  
"My youngest apparently has a burning desire for a Hawaiian shirt," he offered inanely, not knowing what else to say as he stumbled towards the bed, brief adrenalin rush gone.  
  
Lars frowned slightly from his position in the doorway, shorts back on and shades firmly in place, arms folded with his hands tucked under his armpits. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with Hawaiian shirts. We have Hawaiian Shirt Day in the studio. 'Cept people usually don't tell me when it is and I show up in a fuckin' black muscle shirt."  
  
He heaved a deep, satisfied sigh, idly wondering if he should call the front desk and ask for someone to come drain the jacuzzi, because it was kind of…dirty now. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. _Fuck it, they'll do it when we're gone. A lovely present for them, I'm sure._  
  
Eyeing Billie as he clambered limply into the bed, he wanted to pry further into the phone call. Especially since a handful of words had very much caught his attention – _I'll ask him_. Arrogantly, Lars assumed he was the him, and that made his mind tick over skittishly. _Ask me what? My opinion on the best Hawaiian shirts? If I think Denmark will win the World Cup? If I'm excited about the new Guns 'n Roses shows?_ He swallowed back the nervous barrage of questions, seeing Billie practically melting into the bedsheets and deciding now probably wasn't the time.  
  
"Everything's all right, then?" he asked in what he hoped was a cool manner, watching the other man carefully. At the nod from Billie, he pushed himself off the doorframe. "Cool. I'll go eat my other sandwich and leave you alone." He turned and threw a casual remark over his shoulder as he walked back towards the kitchen. "By the way, I was thinking about fucking you in the bathroom on the plane tomorrow, but I guess we'll work out the logistics of it later. Oh, I'll clean your shoulder when you wake up, and I don't want to fuckin' hear a 'no' for an answer."  
  
 _Ask me fuckin' what?_  
  
Lars sat on the counter top, legs crossed underneath him as he looked out through the villa across the sea, chewing his sandwich contemplatively. He really shouldn't be this affected by those words, he knew that. He kept telling himself that. But they kept stomping around in his head and throttling any other thoughts he might've had. Fact was, his relationship with Billie's wife had been distant or fleeting at best, and he was fine with that. Because, having a wife that was okay with, even encouraged you to fuck someone else, and not just someone else but another _man_? That was still weird.  
  
He'd wondered a few times if Skylar would have had the same understanding, if he'd told her about James…no, fuck, he just couldn't see it, couldn't fathom it. Didn't want to. Then he'd wondered if he was in Adrienne's position, would he encourage Skylar to sleep with other women? At first, he'd convinced himself that it'd be fine, if it made her happy. Further thought made him reach the grudging conclusion that no, he emphatically would not be all right with it. _What, am I not enough? Don't I satisfy you? What if you start preferring her over me? What exactly is wrong with me?_ No, no, no, far too many bad thoughts, there.  
  
Basically, the way he dealt with it was pretending as much as possible that Adrienne didn't exist, that way his head wouldn't get so tangled in morality and what was 'normal' and start hurting.  
  
Now, though, Adrienne apparently wanted something of him. Fucking hell.  
  
He sat there on the counter, finishing his sandwich, growing steadily more morose, no matter how many times he would repeat the mantra that assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups. Then, he shook his head hard, jumped down and went through to the open living room, plopping himself down in the armchair that faced out towards the sea. Massaging his brain into a settled state, he ended up unwittingly dozing off, evidently unaware of how tired he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Billie woke gradually, his body vigorously protesting its exit into wakefulness. The realisation that he was alone in the bed completed the process and brought with it a certain forlorn feeling. He tried to shake it off as he used the bathroom and padded out into the hallway.  
  
The last streaks of sunset painted the sky where it met the ocean, and he found Lars in front of the view. Except his lover wasn't watching it: his head had rolled to one side, mouth slightly open, and even though those fucking sunglasses were still perched on his nose Billie knew he was asleep. He smiled and carefully removed the Ray-Bans, placing them on the table, then slowly reclined the chair and covered him with the throw from the couch.  
  
He crouched there for a while, watching the drummer in unusual perfect stillness. Even in a bed, Lars was often a restless sleeper, twitching and muttering. The total lack of movement disconcerted him a little but mostly it amused and Billie's gaze traced again and again over the face that was normally so dominated by expressive green eyes that it seemed almost to belong to a different person in repose.  
  
 _I love you._ The swell of emotion caught him off-guard and for the first time since he'd acknowledged that truth, it hurt that he didn't dare even mouth the words without sound. He had exposed and displayed parts of his inner self to this man that no one – not his wife, not even Billie himself – had seen before today, and yet he was unable to express something so fundamental to who he was.  
  
Billie scrubbed a hand over his face and went into the kitchen, snagging a bottle of water from the stocked fridge. He should be hungry, but he wasn't, and so the water was his only accompaniment as he reached into the outer pocket of his suitcase for a notebook and pen and picked up his guitar, taking his tools out to the veranda so as not to disturb his lover's sleep.  
  
He stripped the instrument from its case and tuned it quickly, fingers picking across the strings in sweet resonance as the first stars popped into view, multiplying until the vista spread before him was lit up by untold millions of tiny sparkles. And still he played, music twisting through him and into the humid night air, onto the once-pristine white paper; trying to make sense of everything the best way he knew how.  
  
Lars's ascent into consciousness was far less calm. Voices murmured softly in his head, muffled as if he were underwater, the actual words being said not quite clear enough for him to make out. There were three people talking, that much became clear. As that conclusion was reached, the owners of the voices suddenly snapped into his awareness and his spine went rigid. Skylar, James and Billie. They were talking, they were laughing, they were discussing, Lars had no idea what they were saying and that scared the shit out of him. He strained to hear, to make out even a few words – were they talking about him, were they comparing notes, were they sharing secrets? – to no avail. It all melded into one indecipherable, distant murmur that even stilling himself entirely, holding his breath, had no effect on. Thrills of fear, of paranoia rippled through his mind, over and over, turning his body cold and his throat dry. A heartbeat's worth of silence, and a sudden voice came roaring out of the darkness towards him, scoring bright red to orange to vicious white through his mind with a startling, searing heat.  
  
James's voice.  
  
 _"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"_  
  
Bright green eyes flew open to find darkness, and Lars froze for a second as his mind dropped back into reality. He became aware that he was lying down, not a position he remembered being in, and a stab of panic made him gasp, hands flinging out to grab for something solid, something real. Nails buried into the coarse fabric of the armchair as he pulled himself up and his sight adjusted to find the villa around him. His head jerked this way and that, glaring into the shadows like some hunted creature, waiting for someone to leap out at him. It was their villa, his and Billie's. His and Billie's. He was still in the armchair in his and Billie's villa. There was nobody else there.  
  
He slumped back down, body going liquid. James's voice echoed in the back of his mind, reverberating into silence, and a sick, cold feeling settled in his stomach in its wake. Lars pressed over his eyes with a thumb and forefinger and swallowed away the lump lodged in his throat.  
  
 _I'm on vacation. I'm on fucking vacation and I'm not going to deal with this, I'm not even going to think about it until I get home. James, you don't fucking get a_ second _of my time or an inch of my thoughts while I'm here, you don't get that fucking privilege anymore. Not while I'm here, on vacation, with him. With Billie._  
  
His breathing evened out, his new mantra settling over his mind. He blinked a few times, looking down at the throw cast over him, then frowned. "Fuck, I fell asleep?"  
  
Sloping to his feet, Lars padded groggily towards the bedroom, finding it empty. As he returned, first aid kit in hand that he'd picked up from the bathroom, he finally became aware of music floating in from outside. Curiosity curled around him and pulled him towards the veranda. And there he was, Billie, sat with his Gibson cradled in his lap, strumming out a bright melody to the balmy night.  
  
Billie had brought his guitar out a number of times in their stay, but still feeling the disconcerting coldness gnawing at his stomach, Billie's playing right then was affecting him deeper than he'd admit. Lars deposited the kit and settled as quietly as possible against the wall, wrapped his arms protectively around himself and watched the younger man in silence. He smiled almost imperceptibly.  
  
Minutes passed before Billie noticed Lars leaning against the wall. He ignored the new presence for a little longer, finishing the phrase he was working on before looking over with a smile.  
  
"Have a seat, if you want. I don't have the energy to bite." He grinned when his lover rolled his eyes and continued to play as Lars sat down in the other sun lounger, fingers wandering now in aid of explanation rather than creation. Billie gazed out at the ocean while he spoke. He'd been putting some of this off a long while and something inside him told him that it needed to be said now, framed by this unearthly beauty and soon to be lost solitude.  
  
"I was ten when my father died. Cancer. The kind where you're here one day and gone the next. The last thing he'd promised me was a guitar because he knew how much I hated playing the piano and my mom kept that promise for him: she gave me Blue for my eleventh birthday."  
  
Strange how he could remember it all so clearly when it had been so long ago. "I guess it was about a year later that she started dating again, and that's when I started writing songs. Because that's when I had my first panic attack." His head bent to the guitar in his lap, watching the ripple of moonlight on the varnished surface.   
  
"A lot of years passed before I figured out that I have a panic disorder and I've learned a shitload of ways to cope with it, but songwriting is the one I always come back to. Not only when I have an attack – I don't have that many anymore, I know my triggers and I know when one's coming on and how to stave it off until I'm somewhere safe – but when I feel overwhelmed by things, too. And it doesn't matter if no one else ever hears what I write, then, I just need to get it out of my head and try to understand what it means to me."  
  
Billie flattened his palm against the strings, stilling their vibration as he met shadowed green eyes. "You asked, earlier, what it felt like, and I don't know if I have an adequate answer to that. On the beach this afternoon you said I'd get whatever you gave me and I accepted that then; but I _understood_ it later, because that's all there was, Uli. I did disappear, and so did everything else except the feeling of what you were doing to me." He breathed out a shaky laugh. "I couldn't even tell you what that feeling was, if it was pain or pleasure or something altogether different; it just… _was_ , and it was everything. For that span of time, your hands, your mouth – God, your _voice_ – they were all I knew."  
  
Billie didn't know what that would mean to Lars, if it would freak him out or turn his crank or what, but at least his lover would have some idea of what it had meant to him. As much of an idea as Billie had, anyway. All the same he clutched the guitar a little closer to him as if it could shield his metaphorical nudity as well as it did his bare skin, and he waited, bracing himself for all the possible responses.  
  
As the words spilled out of Billie, Lars's fingers gradually curled and tightened into the shirt he wasn't wearing, feeling his heartbeat quicken at the realisation that Billie was opening himself up to him. He paid rapt attention, details of Billie's life leaking into him, a past he was never a part of going into his veins and imprinting itself onto his subconscious. His mind offered few thoughts, not much past instinctive annoyance borne from worry that Billie hadn't informed him of his panic disorder sooner.  
  
Then the frontman was telling him that not only could he not articulate exactly what his earlier orgasm had felt like, such was its power, but that his world, his reality had narrowed to Lars and whatever sensations and feelings he was twisting out of the trembling, overcome body pressed close to him. The surge of smugness at that was notable in it absence; in fact, when Billie fell silent, all Lars felt was…was…  
  
He opened his mouth to speak, to fill the air with his own comparatively meaningless babble, as he always did. The words never came; his mouth was left to move soundlessly for a few moments before colour rose in his cheeks and he gave a bashful laugh. He reached up to tug at a curled lock of his longish hair. "I…I hope at least some of that, um, feeling was good," was all he could manage. A little spooked and a lot speechless, Lars got out one more, "I…" before abandoning the topic in favour of something a little safer, until the surprise of it had settled in.  
  
"I had a panic attack once. I think that's what it was. Like, this miniature, condensed nervous breakdown, I just lost my shit completely in this little tin can thousands of feet above the ground. The only show I've ever missed in my band's history was because of that, so…I'm glad you told me. Just in case." He tightened his arms around himself and swallowed. "Billie, there's something that I, um…there's something…" His words stumbled to a halt, the light in his eyes flickering out for a brief moment as he looked down. His shaky train of thought had been derailed massively by the boom of dream-James's voice, suddenly making itself known again.  
  
 _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?_  
  
His chest tightened, and he shook his head. In the next moment he was moving, swift and silent to his lover, sitting on his haunches on the sun lounger, taking the guitar from the younger man and laying it down carefully before resting his palms on Billie's thighs. There was a fleeting wish that he still had his sunglasses on, knowing how much his damn eyes gave him away. That didn't matter, though, because suddenly he was speaking and rendering the sunglasses pointless.  
  
"Billie, I want you to know that it's still kind of a lot crazy in my head, and there might be all this other shit going on in the equation and I might not be sure about anything at all, but I want you to know that I'm happy and you make me happy, and I'm so fucking grateful that you felt you could share all of that with me, I really am, because that means there's trust, and," he took a deep breath, forcibly slowing himself down. "I hope we stay the same. I hope we can stay like this, through whatever might happen because…because I need an anchor right now."  
  
A taut chuckle passed his lips after a moment, and he rubbed his face, groaning. "Never mind, I'm not really making sense. I just had a fucked up dream that messed with me a little bit."  
  
"Did…" _Did you doubt that I trust you?_ It stuck in his throat, and Billie tried again. "I…" _I make you happy?_   
  
He stared at Lars almost in disbelief. He had never heard an impassioned, serious little speech like that from his lover and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Words dissipated every time he tried to say something and finally Billie Joe resorted to action, sliding right over to the other man and reaching for him, one hand slipping into his hair and pulling him down into a kiss.  
  
His other arm wound around the drummer's torso, clutching him close as he, too, rose to his knees and wedged one of his between the older man's, paralleling the invasion of his tongue. He kissed aggressively – _possessively_ – laying claim to Lars in a rush of instinct. _Mine,_ he thought, pushing a little harder, fingers digging into back muscles. And because he knew what some of the 'shit in the equation' was, and one of the reasons Lars might need the anchor he'd mentioned, Billie added a little more in his own head than he would ever say aloud. _He's_ mine _, you sanctimonious prick, and you can go fuck yourself because you won't touch him again._  
  
Though silent his vehemence surprised him and he backed off from the assault, hands gentling, lips shifting to a sweeter rhythm. And then to a rueful laugh as Billie felt a swoop of desire in his stomach – and absolutely nothing lower down. He murmured against his lover's swollen mouth, smiling.  
  
"Would you call it a good experience if you came so fucking hard that hours later, engaging in one of your favourite activities," he paused to capture another kiss, in case his meaning wasn't clear, "makes you feel really good but goes completely unnoticed by your dick because you're still thoroughly satisfied? 'Cause I would have to call that good."  
  
Billie tilted his head back enough to meet green eyes head-on. "I also…I'd like to try something like that again, explore it a little. Maybe with some more preparation so I don't fuck it up in the middle next time because I didn't really know what I was doing, in case that wasn't glaringly obvious." He huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "I have very limited experience with this kind of stuff, and I don't know if you have a lot or not since we haven't talked about it, but it doesn't matter because I feel okay about-about giving over to you. I trust you with that. With me."  
  
Thick eyelashes veiled hazels for a moment as he realised, _More than I ever did Mike._  
  
Lars almost squeaked in surprise when Billie's mouth rose and assaulted his. One arm went back to support himself against the raised end of the sun lounger as he was pressed back, before both of them came up to encircle the other man's neck, and fucking hell he didn't care if that seemed like a submissive, needy gesture because right then he needed some mental security and reassurance and this was _it_. As if to back up that righteous inner justification, Lars bent a little, lowering himself until Billie was angling himself downwards to kiss him, and he returned the kiss suppliantly, not attempting to take control of it.  
  
In the next minute, their roles became very clearly defined again as Billie spoke of his feelings about what happened earlier in their jacuzzi. Lars's heart stumbled over itself. _Giving over to…that's some fucking responsibility right there…_ " _Orv_ …" he breathed. The true meaning and impact of his newly dominant status hit him again like a punch to the chest.   
  
It hadn't really occurred to him that what had happened was a variation on the act of orgasm denial. Self-imposed, yes, but it only just now clicked in his head that Billie had only finally come when Lars had offered to help him, and then he'd wanted it to happen sudden, hard and utterly overwhelming. Lars himself had been more than happy to oblige, and he was coming to realise that that was a whole new dimension of control – and trust – that could be explored.  
  
Putting away those thoughts for now, Lars eyed Billie almost coyly. "Giving over to me?" he echoed quietly, liking how the phase felt on his tongue. "You trust me with…you?" He smiled, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured, then laughed a little at the contradiction of what he'd said about thank you's earlier. "For all of that. I needed to hear it. It's…it's something I didn't get too much of back in the day, and looking how it all turned out…I'll stop being an insecure fucker soon, I swear."  
  
Lars dipped in and claimed a deep kiss from his lover, then shifted backwards, encouraging Billie with him until he reclined against the sun lounger and the other man lay back against him, head resting at his collarbone. The drummer laced his arms around tanned shoulders, before planting a kiss at the side of Billie's neck and nuzzling into it. "I need you," he said softly. "That feels really good to say, and it feels really good for it to still be true. I need you."  
  
Billie lay quietly for a few minutes, absorbing everything Lars had said. He worried sometimes – okay, a lot of the time – that he would ultimately lose all of this because of who he wasn't and could not be. He knew he wasn't within spitting distance of macho, and if he were being honest with himself, the teasing about being girly grated for the very reason that it hit too close to the truth and brushed past his fear that he would never measure up. Even though he wasn't truly effeminate, he didn't pay overmuch attention to gender boundaries and was equally comfortable wearing a thong, skirt, jeans, tuxedo, or nothing at all. Half the time he didn't look old enough to be legal and he'd probably heard every joke there was about whatever substance or lack thereof must have stunted his growth, leaving him slightly shorter than his lover and smaller in general. He rarely closed himself off emotionally because he liked the way it felt to live on the outside of his skin and he found inspiration in it. Billie supposed that that was part of what drew him to submit to Lars; to strip himself naked in every way for both their pleasure.  
  
All of which made him very, very different from James Hetfield; a fact of which he was always cognizant.  
  
To hear Lars _say_ that he'd needed what Billie had told him – to have that validation, complete with the vague implication that he'd always needed such reassurance and hadn't gotten it before…it felt huge. And _good_. And a million other things that swirled through him. Too much to identify, and too dangerous to speak any closer to the heart lest all his secrets spill out.  
  
He turned his head, catching the side of the older man's jaw with a kiss, and said all he could right now, with as much affection as he dared show. "Good."  
  
Another long silence, broken finally by a twinge in his shoulder when the drummer's arms tightened around him. "Speaking of need, while I don't feel like moving I think maybe I need a little Nurse Uli." Billie grinned at the snort of ridicule and finished, "The scratches are fine but the bite's hurting some, so this is me not arguing about you cleaning me up. Again." His smile became flirtatious at the last addition and he batted his eyelashes outrageously as Lars grudgingly rose from the sun lounger.  
  
"If you think I'm gonna buy a nurse's uniform, you've got another thing coming," Lars grumbled, slipping right back into his usual surly persona with ease. He untangled himself and strode over to the kit. "Nurse Uli, fuckin' hell."  
  
He settled into Billie's lap, knees astride of his hips, and hummed the Judas Priest song he'd unintentionally named as he sat back and prepared everything. He couldn't help but glance out of the corner of his eye at the piece of paper Billie had been writing on whilst, as he'd said, getting his overwhelmed feelings out of his head. He couldn't help but wonder, somewhat self-centredly, if the fledgling song was directly about him. There'd been fragments of songs inspired by him over the years, and _Shoot Me Again_ had been pretty much fucking autobiographical, but this was an entirely different situation. Deciding that he kind of liked the vaguely sentimental idea of it all, even if the song didn't directly reference him, he smiled to himself. If Billie wanted him to see or hear it, then it would be up to him. Lars was content with being the catalyst for its existence for now, even through the amusing thought of offering to arrange the song and maybe recording a drum track for it…heh. Collaboration? It was an interesting idea, at least.  
  
Focusing back on the task in hand, Lars ripped open a small packet and unfolded the antiseptic towelette, shifting a little closer. He was well aware that, due to the fact that the bite was sort of on the back of Billie's shoulder, it would be a lot easier if he was sitting behind the other man so he could see what he was doing. Billie seemed to be thinking the same thing, judging by the quizzical look flitting past his hazel eyes. But, well, if the drummer moved then he couldn't do something that was even more enjoyable. He craned his neck to position the towelette, resting it carefully over the wound, then tilted his head and began to kiss his lover, automatically bringing the two actions into a rhythm. Fuck, maybe there was something in the water that was drawing all this sappiness out of him.  
  
 _Maybe it's because you've finally got a guy you can be like this with without feeling like you shouldn't._  
  
Whoa. Out of the blue. _That_ was…that was an interesting thought. One that made him pause for the briefest of seconds, curious as to exactly where it came from and why it was choosing to appear now. Something he would definitely come back to later.  
  
Breaking off the kiss only when he was satisfied that the bite had been sufficiently cleaned, Lars gave a wide grin and unwrapped the bandage packet, and in an almost exact mirror of that fateful night in Billie's hotel room months ago, he cut off a small square and taped it down over the wound. As he was packing all the equipment away, his eyes suddenly lit up and he looked to the younger man, zeal colouring his voice.  
  
"You know what we should do? After we eat, we should get all the pillows and throws and shit from inside and pile 'em all up on the veranda, then at midnight we take a swim in the sea, and after that we come back, settle down on the pillows and sleep out here for the night." He arched an eyebrow and grinned, eyes glittering with amusement. "I'm getting better at this soft shit, huh? I'm learning."  
  
Billie's gleeful expression matched his lover's. "Dude. You wanna make like we're ten and build a fort? I'm there." He leaned forward and his mouth skated up the older man's ribs as Lars bent to the side to put the first aid kit down, licking across his chest and up his throat as he straightened. Billie curled his hands into the waistband of Lars's shorts and tugged a little as he murmured against his lips. "But I have one condition: these gotta go. It'll be just you, me and the pillows." He initiated another kiss with the first faint hint of hunger snaking through him…as his stomach growled.  
  
He broke away laughing. "Yeah, maybe we should work on that food part. I don't even remember the last time I ate and now that you've gone and mentioned it, I'm hungry!"  
  
His memory nudged at him – something about food. Dinner? Yes, that was it: his promise to Adrienne.  
  
 _Shit._  
  
"Um, Lars, speaking of food, I – that is, we'd like to invite you over to the house for dinner, in a couple of weeks or something. Adie mentioned it when she called about Jakob's shirt and I said I'd ask, but I'd really like you to come, too, and meet my kids, you know. I mean I know it'll be kinda, you know, weird or whatever 'cause we're, you know, uh, sleeping together. But it would really mean a lot to me if you came. Jake'll be nice to you. I can't swear for Joey; he's eleven and getting into the adolescent thing on the early side. Unfortunately for my peace of mind, he's very much my son but he should be civil, anyway."  
  
The drummer's utter stillness was not a good sign; Lars Ulrich didn't stay still like that for any good reasons beyond sleep. Billie Joe caught at callused palms and squeezed them in a firm grip. "Please, Uli."  
  
 _Boom, way to napalm most of my happies, Billie._ Forhelvede _._  
  
Just when Lars was sure every trace of that unsettling cold feeling had left his midsection, there it was again, only now it clutched at his stomach something terrible. He'd pretty much forgotten about the phone call completely, but now it was right back in front of him and he didn't have to speculate anymore. _Dinner at the Armstrong place._  
  
He was being invited to dinner with the wife of – no, the _family_ of, and let's not be sentimental about this, the man he was having lots and lots of sex with. Invited to sit down around a nice dining room table with a nice casserole and a nice glass of wine, having nice conversations while two nice kids that giggle and sneakily hide their vegetables in their napkins ask new Uncle Uli lots of nice questions about why he's the best of friends with their daddy. Or maybe they'd innocently wonder aloud about why daddy occasionally came home with bandages and scratches, maybe he'd been in a fight with a dog? Then later on, at some point during the night, almost certainly while having a conversation with nice, hospitable Adrienne Armstrong, nice Uncle Uli would have to keep his eyes on his nice casserole and keep his legs crossed, because the image of bending her husband over this nice dining room table and fucking him until he was raw in every sense has suddenly decided to pop into his mind. Jesus fucking Christ. What was a Dane to do?  
  
The excitement had faded into nothing on his face, and as he was confronted with anxious hope in those emotive hazel eyes, he felt he owed Billie at least some kind of reaction.  
  
"Dinner?" he offered weakly. His eyes dropped down and searched for a definitive answer, finding their clasped hands instead. He forced a little smile, rubbing over the backs of Billie's hands with his thumbs. Evidently Adie didn't share his attitude of self-enforced ignorance, and for a few moments he was right back in Billie's hotel room, this brand new relationship spread out before him and a head filled with a thousand and one terrifying questions. "I don't know if…"  
  
Lars hadn't formed an end to that sentence, so it just sort of hung there, with everything that it could imply. He licked his lips and tried to come up with something, words fizzling out as they reached his throat. "Um…" _Billie, what the fuck are you asking me here, if I want to get thrown in at the deep end without so much as a-a float or a…_  
  
Surfboard?  
  
Suddenly, he looked up, wary curiosity lighting his eyes.  
  
"Do you think I could bring someone?" he asked. "Because if I could, then…" A pregnant pause, an apprehensive gaze. "Okay."  
  
He couldn't help the tiny, niggling sensation that maybe, just maybe, that word might've signed him up to something that could end up being A Very Bad Idea. And that brought him right back to making the understatements of the year.  
  
Billie's gut twisted as the light went out of Lars's face and he kicked himself for opening his mouth. It could have waited a little longer, until they were on the verge of leaving tomorrow. Or even on the plane. It hadn't needed to intrude on what little was left of their idyll. Yet he'd wanted to speak it as he remembered it, and yeah, it was going to be one fucking awkward evening but it felt important, and not only because Adrienne wanted it but because Billie did, too.  
  
He didn't think Lars realised the extent to which Mike had been integrated into Billie Joe's marriage. And still was, in some ways. He still came over for barbecues and he still took off God knows where with Joey and Jakob every so often. His visits had become less frequent and he usually brought Brittney with him now, but he was still part of their family, and so was Tré for that matter. There had been a tidal shift in the way Mike and Billie related to each other on a personal level; in the familial sense, though, very little had truly changed. It had not been an easy transition – it wasn't yet a wholly comfortable one – but it was getting there, and they were both committed to working on it.  
  
Billie hadn't really discussed the subject with Lars. In truth, the level of verbal intimacy they'd reached today was head and shoulders above their usual interactions, partly because even when they were both genuinely interested in the conversation, time spent together inevitably led to getting each other naked. And he knew that his wife made the older man uncomfortable and that Lars didn't really understand the hows and whys of their arrangement. Billie wasn't always sure he understood, either, but it had always been that way since they had first gotten involved, because he had already been sleeping with Mike when he'd met Adrienne.  
  
His mind oriented to the last bit of what had been said and he held in a frown. 'Bring someone'? As in, what, a date? Wasn't that how you asked if you could bring a date? Maybe he meant his father, although he didn't think the elder Ulrich had been told about him so that didn't fit, either. _Who does he want to bring?_  
  
Billie did not ask, much as he wanted to know the answer. He didn't feel like he had the right when he was already asking his lover to go so far out of his comfort zone and be social with his other bedpartner. If having someone else there would help, so be it. "Yeah, sure. Sure, if you want to, you can bring someone."  
  
Instinct guiding his actions, he brought one set of clasped hands up and shifted until his palm rested against the back of Lars's hand. He locked gazes with his lover and directed their spooned fingers across his shoulder, feeling a dull throb as they passed over the newly-applied bandage that reminded him how it had felt to have the sting of the antiseptic synchronized with the rhythm of that kiss, the combination tingling down his spine.  
  
Next they glided over Billie's throat, making sure that fingertips grazed the small scar at its base, and down to twin raised lines over his right nipple, like jagged lightning. They shone whiter than usual against his sun-gilded skin. He let go then and left the drummer's rough hand pressed to his chest over the mark he had made that had signalled the beginning of this relationship. A mark as permanent and as wanted as the designs inked on his body.  
  
Saying as clearly as he knew how, _I'm yours, too._  
  
Lars's eyes fell briefly to where his hand rested, feeling something gnaw at his chest at Billie's actions. He brought his gaze back up to meet the younger man's. "Okay," he repeated, offering a thin smile. "If it'll make you happy, then…sure." _Ulrich, you're a fucking moron, you know you're not ready to deal with something like that. Then again, if you're not ready now, when will you be? Just fuckin'…quit being such a pussy. And whether Quirk wants to or not, he's coming, because you're sure as shit not gonna drown by yourself._  
  
Stuffing back down his morose thoughts, Lars looked back to the scar, rubbing his thumb over the marked flesh. Then his hand strayed up, back to the smaller mark just above Billie's collarbone. The first mark he'd made, the one that started it all.  
  
He closed his eyes, mind going back to that darkened motel room, the aggression, the frustration, the _bloodlust_ all being let loose with a sudden electric fury and poured onto the man he'd met just an hour or two before. It was a long time ago, a lot had happened to both them and their bands, and neither of them were the same men they were back then. Despite all this, despite the fact that the scar had faded a little, Lars remembered it so fucking well…the warmth, the slide, the tremble of Billie's damp flesh, the scratch of nails, calluses and starchy bedsheets, the cloying heat and smell of sweat, of alcohol, of sex, sticking to the skin and swathing the senses…teeth coming down to cut into Billie's throat, pressing hard into skin until it broke and warmth pooled in his mouth…  
  
Lars's eyes drifted open to find he had moved, mouth hovering over that scar, lips slightly parted and breath shuddering slightly against it. He tilted his head a little closer to drag the very tip of his tongue over the whitened skin, teeth coming down to nibble gently around it. The image of settling down to that nice meal flitted through his head, of occupying someone else's world, of Billie and Adrienne exchanging a heated look, a deep kiss…  
  
Suddenly Lars's hands were at Billie's wrists and the younger man's head thudded against the sun lounger as he was pinned back. Lars arched over him, a soft growl unfurling from the back of his throat, and nipped sharply at the flesh under Billie's chin. His voice emerged in a dark purr.  
  
"How 'bout I send you home with more secret marks than your lady'll know what to do with?"  
  
Billie's stomach obnoxiously made itself heard again, and after a moment's rasped breath, Lars pulled back a little and eyed his lover. "After we eat, huh?"  
  
With a fleeting kiss pressed to Billie's lips, the drummer relinquished his grip on tattooed wrists and stood, picking up the first aid kit and heading back into the villa. He shook his head roughly.  
  
 _The motherfuckers got in my head…get 'em out of my head, out of my head…_  
  
Billie exhaled in a low whistle when Lars exited the veranda, hands dropping to his sides. The ferocity had appeared so suddenly that he'd reacted without thought, muscles loosening, body opening to allow his lover to take whatever he wanted. It shook him a little that his response had been so very automatic. _Possessive much?_  
  
A vague disquiet accompanied the satisfaction of that display of possession because he knew that it had been sparked by thoughts of Adie. Some imagined scene between him and his wife, or merely the idea of this whole dinner deal. While the prospect didn't fill him with glee either, he grew more and more aware of how necessary it was. Lars's referral to his 'lady' had clinched his certainty of it.  
  
Adrienne Armstrong was many, many different things, but if you called her a lady to her face, the most likely response would be a saccharine smile followed by a string of possibly the most vulgar cursing you'd ever heard. Billie had seen it happen more than once and it never failed to crack him up no matter how inappropriate the place or time. She also had this way of inserting expletives seamlessly into conversations at exactly the moment of maximum impact. He'd envied that ability as long as he'd known her.  
  
No, his wife was no lady, but his lover didn't know that because she scared the shit out of him from a distance, and that was what had to change. Adie knew that Lars Ulrich wasn't a threat to their marriage. Lars didn't understand that she wasn't a threat to his and Billie's relationship, either. He was still thinking linearly, and nothing about Billie Joe had ever fit on a straight line.  
  
He sighed and stowed the guitar back in its case, loosening the strings so they didn't snap in transit and tucking the pad of paper and the pen in the pocket inside. He glanced at his chickenscratch with a small smile; it had promise. This fragment might grow up to be a song.  
  
Rising from the sun lounger, he stretched and padded into the villa, dropping off the instrument case on the way to the kitchen where the drummer had already begun putting things together. They assembled and ate dinner mostly in silence, each man drifting in his own thoughts, but when they were finished and Lars rose, Billie stopped him from clearing the table by the simple expedient of wrapping tattooed arms around him.  
  
"Leave it. I want to go build a pile of pillows and watch the moon rise. I want to skinnydip in the ocean with you and laugh on the sand. Play like kids and fuck like teenagers."  
  
He nuzzled the stubborn jaw in wordless apology, stubble scraping his own scruffy cheek. "We can take silly pictures of the stars with the digital and tickle each other breathless before we fall asleep in our fort." His mouth found another pair of lips and tasted their sweetness.  
  
"Come play with me, Uli."


	4. Chapter 4

Lars had almost started when arms snaked around his waist, so mired in sour thoughts as he was. But when Billie made his requests, and nuzzled, and kissed, and used that damned nickname, his lips were tugged insistently into a crooked grin and he snuffed out a laugh. He set the one plate back down that he'd been holding in mid-air and rubbed at his face, groaning softly. "Ugh. Fucker."  
  
In the next moment, his grin took on an impish curl, and he pulled back to dip his head and headbutt Billie affectionately in the chest, the headbutt turning into a tackle as he pushed the younger man backwards. The shrieked giggle that this elicited buoyed his spirits massively, and he laughed himself as he charged forwards, staggering, forcing Billie blindly back until he thudded into something – the far counter top – with a perfunctory 'ow'. At that, Lars took his lover by the waist and swung him around, reversing their positions, and pressed himself back against the tiles as his fingers curled into dark, wavy hair to steal a kiss.  
  
"No more talking about reality and all that shit. I can try and deal with it, but not now. Not here," he said firmly. He pulled Billie in for another kiss, deeper this time, tongues sliding lazily together and bleeding out little hums of pleasure. The tension in his stomach eased, and he smirked as the kiss ended, hand skating down Billie's side to settle on his hip. "Not when I should be building the greatest fucking fort ever, with a mosquito net for a canopy, the champagne ice bucket to one side of us and the fruit we've got left, the bananas, the strawberries to the other." He smiled wide. "And then I'm gonna lay you down in that fort, underneath all the stars and make sweet, sweet love to you, and we'll be the most romantic, clichéd motherfuckers in this whole resort." The tail of his sentence had been peppered with giggles, but he meant it. The drummer was determined not to let this vacation end on a bad note, and he was also determined to show Billie exactly what a romantic, clichéd motherfucker he could be.  
  
He slid away from the counter, trotting over to the couch and scooping up an armful of cushions, throwing one in Billie's direction. "But we're not pillowfighting in our jammies." He took a considered pause, the ghost of a wicked smirk tracing his lips. "Well, maybe."  
  
Soon, the fort was up, and what a coherent mess it was. Pillows, sheets, towels, cushions, everything was in the mix. The two of them had even managed to engineer the mosquito net canopy Lars had mentioned, using a broom, some twine and a busted guitar string. Then, obediently, the older man stepped out of his shorts, threw a coy look over his shoulder at his lover, and ducked into the semi-enclosed little haven. He rested back on his elbows and cast his gaze around inside, before bringing it back to meet Billie's, green eyes glittering.  
  
"It's not a fort. It's a love nest."  
  
Grinning at the utter silliness of it all, Billie took one last drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out in the bowl of sand he'd stuck under the table the first day for that purpose. There wasn't much in it besides the sand; he hadn't smoked much while they'd been here. Too busy doing other things and he tended to reach for his Camels when he was revved up, not in stereotypical moments of post-coital bliss. And every time he'd been revved up in this little slice of paradise his cravings had been taken care of by his lover in a different way altogether.  
  
He ducked under the jury-rigged canopy and sank to the soft surface, gaze raking appreciatively over the drummer's nudity. Seeing Lars all spread out like that made his fingers itch to touch. So he did: nails tracing lightly across the bare torso and down to follow the curve of one hip and then detouring up around the indentation of the navel to land on the far hip with a warm palm flattening against the sharp contour of bone. He smiled as he used the grip to tug the older man closer, a sweet, happy glow lighting hazel eyes.  
  
"I guess the moon qualifies as our own personal lava lamp, huh? Because a love nest should definitely have a lava lamp," he giggled. Billie dropped his head for a kiss, tongue sweeping into a champagne-wet mouth. "It's almost midnight. Wanna go swimming?"  
  
They abandoned the nest for the water, splashing and laughing in a concerted effort to have fun. It was easy enough to let it all go for a little while longer and cling to this space they had made together, this pocket of unreality that soothed and excited and bound them closer with every passing minute.  
  
Soaking wet, unruly curls dripping and straggling into his face, Billie Joe caught his lover around the waist and gave him a very serious kind of kiss. One that involved a heated tangle of flavours and a rhythm laced with promises. "I'm incredibly glad that you booked this vacation, Lars. I love it here and I wouldn't have thought of it myself."  
  
He wouldn't have. He had money and he didn't begrudge spending it, but at the same time, Billie was true to his blue-collar roots and such extravagance would simply not have occurred to him. It was yet another area where they differed.  
  
But while standing in balmy waves up to his thighs, wrapped close in his lover's arms under the tropical night sky, none of the differences between them held any meaning. Only the moment mattered and this one definitely ranked up there as being spectacular.  
  
Going from damn close to fucking miserable to delighted beyond adequate description in a relatively short time was quite the transformation, but Lars managed it. As he exhaled deeply against the curve of Billie's neck, giddy pride and swirling, dull heat sliding together low in his stomach, a smile found his lips that he couldn't possibly wipe off. He met the younger man's gaze, rendered in near monochrome by the bright moonlight draped over him, and tugged at a curl of wet hair that tickled at his neck.  
  
"I've wanted to bring someone here for a while now," he murmured. "Bob Rock, our producer friend, was the guy who told me about it; he took a second honeymoon here. Said there was scuba diving too, in case I got antsy for it or bored or whatever. Strangely enough, I haven't even given thought to it." He grinned. "You're very distracting, I hope you realise that."  
  
Lips still tingling deliciously from _that_ kiss, the one that twisted into him like a corkscrew and dragged out any remaining traces of thoughts about the rest of the world, he sought to catch the last traces of it with another. His hands moved from pressed to the small of Billie's back to trace fingertips over the outline of tattoos wrapped around his shoulder. He wouldn't exactly say he was enthralled by them, but they certainly piqued his curiosity – stories and moments and people from Billie's life, long before Lars was anything more to him than some drummer in a world-straddling heavy metal band, and maybe even before that. What was the significance of the car, the Baby Herman? Why did he feel there were enough stars right there, did the colours mean anything, what did the Japanese text translate to?  
  
Would Lars ever appear in some incarnation on that skin?  
  
A rather scary thought, one that pulled his attention from the inked flesh back to Billie's eyes.  
  
"I don't know if this is the champagne and the moonshine talking, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "You know what, no, later. Later. Right now we have a love nest to christen." His hand snaked down to cup Billie's ass, pressing him close as warmth spread from green eyes. "I have a boyfriend to fuck, nice and slow."  
  
Curious though he was about what had been left unsaid, Billie smiled at the last comment and ignored his curiosity – Lars wasn't the only one who'd had more than enough verbal intimacy for today. "Oh, I see. You were _serious_ about being a clichéd motherfucker," he teased. He started to back up, drawing the other man after him and drinking in his grin. Their progress was slow, hampered as it was by Billie having to walk backwards and also by the frequent pauses to kiss, sand dragging at wet feet that they rinsed off under the outdoor shower once finally reaching the villa.  
  
Drying off a bit with a towel that had not been incorporated into the love nest, Billie wondered how long the drummer had known about this island – how long he'd wanted to bring someone here, and why he had not brought James. He was sure that they would have taken vacations together over the years, so why not here? What did it mean that Lars had only ever been here with Billie?  
  
He crawled into the haphazardly arranged material enclosure and reached for the champagne, pouring out two glasses. The ice in the bucket had melted but he didn't care; he wasn't going to bother getting more, not now. Not when his skin had already begun to tingle with the anticipation of touch.  
  
Not when it was their last night in this secluded haven.  
  
Passing one bubbling flute to his lover, Billie raised his glass with a wide grin. "To sand in interesting places."  
  
He giggled at the snort of amusement that got him, then set his drink to the side after a long swallow and lay back against the pillows in the starlit darkness, with his eyes shining and one hand outstretched in clear invitation. "C'mere."  
  
A smirk tweaked Lars's lips, eyes travelling from Billie's face to his open hand to the champagne flute he himself held. Shifting closer, he reached out with his free hand and took his lover's, fingers laying flat in his palm as he pulled the hand up towards him. Then he opened his mouth and dropped his lips over Billie's forefinger, closing them and drawing it slowly back out. Calmly, methodically, he did this with each of Billie's fingers, taking extra time to swirl his tongue around the tip of the little finger. He grinned impishly. "That _was_ what you meant, huh?"  
  
Next, he raised his glass and poured all but the last few dregs of his drink down his throat. Those dregs were then dripped into the younger man's bellybutton and lapped up, framed by a gaze that promised fire, and loyalty, and a hundred other things that were for Billie alone to know. The jerk of his lover's stomach, the tiny hitch of breath as the tip of his tongue dipped into the sensitive spot served to widen his grin, and his mouth skimmed over to the arch of a tattooed hipbone, teeth grazing letters, before returning to the champagne-and-cigarettes sweetness of Billie's mouth that was now so familiar.  
  
"How about to sand and bruises in interesting places?" he murmured against full lips, eyes heavy lidded and dilating slowly. "It's a little more appropriate for us, I think…" He ended the sentence by finding one such bruise, high up on the other man's left thigh, and pressing his thumb into it. The soft whine that greeted his kiss was one to be treasured.  
  
Not breaking away, Lars moved carefully in between Billie's legs, fingertips moving to trace down the sun-soaked hipbone, over that bruise and down the inside of the younger man's thigh, bestowing the lightest, barest tastes of stimulation for awakening skin. His mouth followed suit, descending to close around and suck at a hardened nipple.  
  
"Ever think about getting your nipple pierced, Billie?" he purred against it, flicking his tongue at the dark flesh, voice lilting in nonchalant enquiry. "I promise you, it's worth it."  
  
Finger-sucking wasn't what Billie had had in mind but he liked it, watching the pull of that sinful mouth as it moved from hand to crystal to stomach. He could read bits and pieces of the things swirling in green eyes as Lars hovered over him, licking up the chilled liquid, and the warmth spreading through him had as much to do with that as with the slow arousal of his senses. And then the drummer suggested nipple piercing and Billie laughed.  
  
"No way, dude. Not after what happened with my nose ring. I jumped around so much on stage that my shirt got caught on it and nearly ripped a chunk out – took us ten minutes to unsnag it, in the middle of a fucking show. I took it out once we were done playing and let it grow over. I don't even wear earrings much anymore, mostly just sleeper hoops so the holes don't close."  
  
He inhaled sharply as teeth skimmed the brightly coloured edges of the car inked on his chest, breathing out a moan. "I'll stick to tattoos. They don't get caught on shit and they have the bonus of making your skin that much more sensitive."  
  
His legs spread a little wider at the delicate tracery of fingertips, giving better access to anywhere his lover might want to touch though he didn't expect his half-hard cock would get attention any time soon. Lars was definitely taking it 'nice and slow', just like he'd said. That was good – it would feel amazing for them both, he knew – but the tenderness held an edge for Billie that even the commitment in that complicated gaze didn't quite blunt. He forced thoughts of unbalance from his head; drove it all out, ignoring any possible consequences, and simply opened himself to the experience – to Lars, a soft light of surrender in his face.  
  
"More sensitive, huh?" Lars mumbled, eyebrow quirking slightly. He'd never felt the urge for a tattoo himself; he was definitely drawn towards piercings more than anything. He and Kirk had kind of indulged in a piercing odyssey of sorts for a little while, the guitarist far outclassing him by the end of it. Only difference was, Lars still had all of his. And he wasn't about to take them out, either, not when there was a pair of pouting lips and a tongue almost as wicked as his own that seemed to enjoy them so. But no, the idea of a tattoo hadn't really blipped insistently across his radar like so many other things – but he definitely appreciated them on other people.  
  
Proving that, and liking Billie's reaction, Lars raised his hand and dragged a fingernail around the outline of the car he'd grazed before. He smiled. "So that feels good?" The nail dragged lower, encircling and scoring through the scar he'd left, and his ever restless lips flitted back up to press to his lover's jaw, his mouth, taking each taste, each flavour for himself. "And this feels good?" He skritched a little harder at inked skin, rubbing his fingertips over it in the next instant.  
  
"Something tells me I'll remember that," he drawled between kisses, smirking. "Something to drive you crazy with one day, maybe."  
  
The combination of calm night air and increasing body heat in their little corner of the universe was a pleasant one. His hand settled at Billie's waist, lowering himself onto his other forearm and bringing his body closer to the younger man's. As awakening skin came together, two soft gasps met the balmy air and Lars felt electricity skitter up his spine, something beginning to unfold in the pit of his stomach. The hand at Billie's waist tightened a little, and the drummer looked at him through his lashes, heat unfurling from his gaze, voice hovering just above a harsh whisper.  
  
"Touch me. Touch me and make me fucking _moan_."  
  
Hazel eyes hooded at the demand and Billie pressed one finger against the drummer's mouth, his own lips parting as a tongue curled around the digit. "You don't really need much more of an arsenal than that to drive me crazy," he murmured with a dirty little smirk.  
  
The wetted fingertip scraped across a pierced nipple, teasing the skin taut and pulling at the silver ring. Billie captured one more kiss before his mouth slipped down the Dane's body, seeking out the most sensitive spots, lavishing moist attention on each square inch of flesh that quivered when he touched it. He returned the favour of fingers ghosting over inner thighs but kept going, dancing along the curves of the joints where legs met hips and circling around the tightly curled hair at the base of his lover's cock, finally sliding underneath to cup heavy balls in a careful caress as his lips reached jutting hipbones. He bit down at the exact moment that he tugged hard on the nipple ring.  
  
An explosive exhale sounded above him and Billie grinned, laving the sore spot and trailing along a line to the softness of Lars's inner thigh. Teeth gripped skin again, briefly, and then he pushed pliant legs wide apart and slid right down, tongue extended to lick just behind where his fingers played, the tip prodding at the ultra-sensitive area while his other hand continued to stimulate pebbled nipples.  
  
 _That_ got him a coveted moan and he rewarded it by taking one soft sac into his mouth, licking and sucking and humming too, sending the vibrations into the older man's skin to twine with the small noises Lars began to make. Billie switched sides and repeated his actions as his hands roamed freely, callused fingers stroking over all the bare skin he could reach – except the erection right in front of him. That, he completely ignored; he had plans for it later and he rather thought that Lars did, too.  
  
Billie enjoyed having free reign to touch as much as he wanted: to kiss, lick, suck, bite at his lover's body until it trembled. Until all Lars could think about was fucking him. The glazed green irises surrounding dilated pupils told that truth, even when the drummer waited longer still to satisfy his own desire, until it had crossed over into need for them both. And it didn't matter if he didn't wait either; listening to the sounds Lars made, tasting and teasing him, it all aroused Billie, too.  
  
Shock after shock sparked bright up into Lars's brain, making his hips twitch spasmodically and forcing his breath into small, staccato gasps. His head dropped down to rest in the crook of his arm, tongue darting out to swipe along parted, drying lips, unfocussed eyes hovering around the man that was between his legs and effortlessly coaxing out wet little moans from low in his throat. "You sure as – ahh – fuck know about what drives people crazy, _min skat_."  
  
Eyes sliding shut as his spine arched, his hand reached blindly down to stroke at Billie's hair, content with the younger man's apparent intent to avoid his cock; he would have, and had numerous times, done the same, he thought with a small grin. The grin disappeared as he let out a loud gasp, other hand fisting into the sheet beneath it when Billie once again hummed around vulnerable flesh and his fingertips strayed near his asshole. His legs spread further, instinctively, teetering on the edge of wanting more contact and needing it, unable to withhold the high whimper that bubbled up from his throat.  
  
It never failed. Once Lars was aroused enough, and with certain stimulation, it was like a switch was flicked inside him and he would yield to most anything. Something would just go inside his chest and he could be bent (over) to his partner's will, temporarily relinquishing any control in pursuit of his own pleasure. It usually didn't last, not long enough for anything truly monumental to be initiated, but for at least a few minutes at a time it would turn into 'anything goes' and the drummer wouldn't even give thought to his acquiescence. Evidently, despite the reversal of roles with Billie, that switch was still there.  
  
There was some little thing in his partner's touch not quite defined that could bring Lars to his knees. James had learnt this very quickly. It seemed Billie was just about to.  
  
Billie's hands continued to wander, his mouth continued to tease. Lars panted hard a few times, his thighs shuddering, and he shifted his head until his eyes were covered, buried in his arm. "Fuck… Just a little…" he breathed, barely audible. He interrupted himself with a whine as Billie's fingertip grazed his most sensitive of spots. Then, slightly louder as his hips pulled forward, craving more, " _Please…_ "  
  
Billie glanced up, vaguely startled by the plea, to see his lover's whole body gone taut with desire, his expression one of straining pleasure. The way he'd hidden those telltale eyes seemed significant: at once an effort to dispel distraction and a gesture of protection against giving too much away. A deep burn started in Billie's stomach at the sight and coiled through him, tendrils of fire licking along his mind.  
  
He remembered this from that night in his hotel room, amidst the ruins of broken relationships. How the older man had opened to him, blind to all but sensation, and Billie had chosen then not to push. It had been too fragile, too uncertain. It hadn't been the right time.  
  
Lips curling in a secret smile, he brought his wandering hands in close and brushed delicately around the flushed erection with five teasing fingers. Two of those on his other hand went into his mouth. He coated them generously with saliva and then bent to lick at the head of Lars's cock, tongue flickering as he spread asscheeks wide and pressed one slicked finger inside – gently, knowing it had been a while, but insistently all the same as he established a lazy rhythm, slow slow hard slow slow hard, fingertip tapping continuously against swollen tissue. One last lick and then another to the palm of his free hand, and Billie wrapped his mouth around the top of drummer's erection and his wet hand around the base, sucking hard even as he carefully added the second slicked finger to the one already fucking deep inside Lars.  
  
He didn't know how far his lover would let him take it but he didn't care. This was much too precious an opportunity to pass up. And if it earned him payback, well, he'd learned enough since that night to know that that was a delicious prospect, too. Right now he could not ignore the allure of making those hips buck in time with his hands and mouth, or the sweet satisfaction of the sounds spilling from wide open lips.   
  
A long, low moan bled from Lars at the fleeting caress of Billie's fingers, which ascended into rhythmic almost-yelps that met the pillows beneath him when callused fingertips bumped over and over again into his sweet spot. His own hand moved from his lover's hair to grasp at a nearby cushion, hips pushing back to meet each thrust into him, bucking forward to increase the sensation of wet heat enveloping his cock.  
  
If he had been more aware of himself, he might've worried that images of a certain leonine frontman would begin to flash into his head, or that his name would tumble from his lips. But in the state he was currently in, there would've been no need to worry. He wasn't thinking about James. He wasn't thinking about Billie. He wasn't thinking _period_. The fog of desire had draped over his mind like a shameless groupie, sending something spiraling inside him, and his self control began to slip through his fingers.  
  
Which was why, as he felt his thighs burn and his gut twist in warning, air rushed from his lungs in a fraught cry. "St-op! Stop!"  
  
He gave a hard, full body shudder in the moment after Billie's fingers slipped out of him, pleasure thrumming in his veins and heating his blood. He panted against his arm, every other breath peppered with a hissed 'fuck' as his muscles spasmed involuntarily. His mind settled and it was then that James shimmered into his purview, dry palms flattening against the drummer's chest and folding his tattooed form over his back, murmuring honeyed words against his ear in that low purr, a sharp contrast to the shaky whines emerging from parted Danish lips, as he slowly pushed inside…  
  
The sight of him, the feel of him, after that dream and after the months that had passed, made him choke on his breath and turned his blood cold for a few horrible seconds in a way that he could never adequately explain.  
  
A few moments to bring himself back from the brink, still feeling his heart throb through every inch of him, and the drummer twisted his head to cast one glazed eye down to the man looking up at him. His expression, for once, gave nothing away.  
  
 _Too much._  
  
"Fucker," he murmured somewhat shakily. He let go of the cushion, reaching down to take Billie's hand and pull him back up level. A tiny smirk tweaked the corner of his mouth. "That's not how this was s'posed to go." He pressed a kiss to the younger man's lips, the taste of his own precome hitting his tongue. It was enough to bring his focus back to where it should have been as his hands slid down his lover's body.  
  
Billie responded to the kiss, the caresses, but his mind was elsewhere. He'd pulled back immediately at the drummer's cry, withdrawing until their bodies didn't touch at all. He did not understand where he'd gone wrong, because it hadn't been just a demand to stop everything because it'd gone far enough; there had been a thread of real distress in Lars's voice. He knew he'd read the physical signals correctly. Driving Mike to the brink of insanity with hands and mouth alone had been one of his favourite activities for a very long time, and he'd done it with enough other men as well to be totally confident about that conclusion. He had more than enough experience to base it on.  
  
That meant that Billie had stumbled across another of the older man's hidden landmines. Sparked some memory or something of James or even Skylar, or something else in his storied past. What, he didn't know, and probably never would. It didn't really matter what it was. He'd obviously misjudged the situation.  
  
Billie had never had a bedpartner call a halt before, not like that. There had been temporary breaks, sure, for nature calls or a foot that had gone to sleep, or in the case of his wife, one child-related interruption or another. And of course there had been the shy fumbles with girls in school who had whispered, 'Stop', in the same manner that the boys had said, 'More'. But nothing that had left him feeling like he'd taken advantage of the other person and it shook him profoundly to feel that way now, with someone he loved.  
  
He let Lars press him back against the pillows, returning his kisses and offering himself as freely as he always did…but not as openly. For the first time with this man, Billie Joe felt the need to close some portion of himself off; to render himself less vulnerable. Twice now he'd tried to please the drummer and ended by completely fucking it up. Pretty pathetic record for someone who used to call the shots even from the bottom.  
  
Swallowing the urge to apologise, not even sure what it'd be for, Billie stuffed down his insecurities and the sudden surge of doubt. Fleetingly he missed Mike; missed the safety and comfort that he had brought, because while those very things had ultimately rung the death knell for the romantic aspect of their relationship, Billie would appreciate a little solid ground right now very much indeed instead of all this yawning uncertainty.  
  
He thought it, felt it, and then dismissed it. He didn't have time for that, and this was not the place. Instead he threw himself into kissing his lover. His hands began to move over the Dane's skin again and if his touch was a little more tentative, Billie didn't allow himself to notice it.   
  
This was their last night here. He didn't want to fuck it up any more.  
  
If Billie refrained from noticing his cautious touch, Lars did not fail to feel it. It wasn't so much hesitancy he felt in the fingers that swept along his skin, making it tingle, but…fuck. There was something in those caresses that unsettled him more than the way his body had insisted on bringing things shuddering to a halt.  
  
In the wake of his reaction and how suddenly the shutters had just come down, though he wouldn't admit it, he was kind of shaken. It had rushed up into him out of nowhere – no, out of some darkened corner of his mind, and said NO, so starkly and aggressively that he'd recoiled, and in that unconsciously obeyed. Now his head had cleared a little he almost felt, fucking hell, upset. Like, whoa, step back a little. And he was just now realising what a big part of that was caused by.  
  
When he'd turned his head that little way, still buried in the crook of his arm, to look down at the man between his legs, his addled, hazed out brain had told him he was going to see James. Because up until that point for many years, in that position with all that stimulation, he would have. Seeing Billie instead shook him to the fucking core and made him realise just how unprepared he was for that stage in their relationship.  
  
 _Fuck, am I_ ever _going to be prepared for it?_  
  
Lars let the kiss peter out, lost in his own thoughts for a few moments. Then he opened his eyes and regarded the frontman, finally feeling that something in Billie's touch that brought his mind away from himself. A slight frown creased his brow, and he grasped Billie's hands to still them. For a drawn out time, green eyes searched hazels, neither man speaking a word as the drummer did his best to read into the younger man. The frown faded with the intensity of his gaze when it dawned on him. It had to have been pretty fucking startling to be barked at to stop doing what you do best, to say the very least.  
  
The drummer chewed the inside of his lip.  
  
"I thought I was ready," he murmured, holding the other man's eyes. "I guess I'm not yet. It's a boundary that…maybe I thought you could shove me over it. It's not your boundary to cross, and I shouldn't have pushed it on you as if it was. It's not your mistake." A pause, and his voice dropped into softness. "One day."  
  
Ignoring the fact that he knew, with all these inner revelations, that this might not ever be true, Lars took Billie's lips in an incredibly tender kiss, mouth working gently against his lover's and meting out a sincere apology that his voice would never allow.  
  
Billie Joe accepted the kiss, knowing it for what it was. _Not my mistake._ He could accept that, too – intellectually, anyway – but he couldn't turn off the way he felt about it and though the guilt lessened with Lars's admission that he hadn't been ready, the sense of standing at the edge of a precipice grew stronger, as did the pain. What had happened in the jacuzzi hours ago influenced the intensity of his reaction. Billie knew that. He had remained more rattled by the whole experience than he'd realised and it allowed everything to hit him that much harder.  
  
That didn't change the fact that he'd _smashed_ through several of his own boundaries in the last twenty-four hours with as little warning and in at least one case, also a near-total lack of awareness of what was going on or how it would affect him, and he'd been able to do that because of the strength of his feelings for and his trust in his lover. In return, the drummer's memories of someone else had prevented him from crossing just the one.  
  
He'd known right from the beginning that he would keep bumping into pieces of James; hell, he'd known that before the beginning, watching Lars leave a crappy motel room to go to a therapy session that would end up saving his band. That ache of not being enough had first echoed then, so faintly he hadn't even known what it was until it returned three years later when he'd seen them sitting together in that hotel ballroom. It had shown its face a few times in the months since, but right now it was an unparalleled tightness in his chest that squeezed his lungs hard enough to impair his breathing.  
  
"Okay," he acknowledged aloud, keeping it all out of his voice. Billie fumbled for the lubricant they'd left in the fort earlier and pressed it into his lover's hand, his eyes wide and beseeching. "Now, please, Uli. I don't need any prep, just, now. Please."  
  
He needed to lose himself in the physical and bury this hurt back down where it belonged, because there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it. Lars had spoken the truth: they were _his_ boundaries to cross. His demons to conquer. All Billie could do was watch and wait; he had fallen much too far, too hard, to leave.  
  
Lars opened his mouth to question, to say something, surprised by both Billie's plea and the brightness in his eyes. He just as soon closed it and gave a faint smile, hoping that it would give the reassurance that he didn't currently feel himself. Looking down, he uncapped the tube and squeezed out a blob of the clear liquid into his palm, sliding his hand along his erection. It sent a hard jolt to his brain at the sudden touch, making his hips jerk and forcing a sharp expulsion of air from his lips. Evidently the absence of sensation for those few minutes hadn't diminished his arousal.  
  
Once prepared, green eyes raised back to Billie as his hands slipped underneath smooth thighs and eased them up. They then moved to clasp and lay Billie's hands at the small of his back, another silent gesture of reassurance. _Hey, I still want to be here. I still want to be with you. I still want to do this._ Simple things, simple truths that he could swallow and not have them stick like broken glass. His lips dropped to worry at a pretty neck while his hand grazed over tanned skin to round Billie's ass, still slicked fingers searching out the younger man's pucker and stroking over it a few times, feeling it twitch under his scant caress.  
  
Heeding Billie's request, Lars spread his hands and settled them over curving hipbones. Gently and tentatively, as much for his benefit as Billie's, he eased himself in, shivers skittering down his spine like rivulets of chill water at the feeling of that tight ring of muscle and the delicious heat beyond it. Then he was rocking his hips slowly into his lover with all the languid passion he'd promised earlier, humming wordlessly against Billie's throat and skimming his lips over all the skin he could reach.  
  
The way Lars had twitched when he'd slicked his cock brought a hint of smugness back into Billie's emotional mess because despite the events directly afterwards, Billie had aroused him like that. He seized on the feeling, on the relief of it; on the _normalcy_ of it as a response to teasing your lover; and it helped soothe him perhaps more even the physical distraction of the faint burn as the older man pressed gently inside his semi-prepared body. He was accustomed to feeling cocky to the point of arrogance in bed – confident in his ability to please his partner by both actions and reactions. Smacking hard into the barrier in Lars's mind had functioned very much like a bitchslap to Billie's psyche, as wobbly as he'd already been from everything else.  
  
But this… In another situation, on another night, this tenderness could break him. Right now, though, he welcomed it, letting it soak in and cover the places that hurt with a sense of being cared for. Cherished. And if his mind was still ten miles behind, his heart felt the truth in the soft touches and skimming kisses and he arched with a gasp, head tilting back and knees rising to clasp his lover's sides as any resistance melted away.  
  
Billie whined at the delicate scrape of teeth across his exposed throat as his pleasure built in slow stages dictated by the controlled rhythm of the drummer's thrusts, acutely aware of the friction inside him and the rolling thump-thump-thump against his sweet spot. His hands slipped higher around Lars's back, fingers digging in a little to hold on, the feel of muscles shifting under his palms reminding him of the first time he'd wondered about this, whilst drinking wine from the bottle in a badly-lit booth in some bar. Even with the challenges and the uncertainty, even though there were times that he feared they might be stuck at this unbalanced stage forever, it was so much more than he'd been capable of imagining.  
  
"Yours," he thought, unaware that his mouth had shaped the word and his breath had given it a whispered life. Though had he realised it, at this exact moment, he might have spoken it anyway.  
  
While Lars didn't pause at Billie's softly murmured word, barely there and only caught by his ears thanks to his close proximity, his eyes did drift open. He allowed himself a small smile, lips curving up as they flitted over skin that was just beginning to glint with sweat, lips that silently gave his appreciation for the younger man's incredibly meaningful utterance and temporarily burying the fact that he refused to let himself believe it. That was angst for another day, another lifetime, if he could help it. Fuck anything but this night. This last night.  
  
The drummer's rhythmic thrusts were smooth, slow, undulating; submerging himself in the feel of his lover, the press of his fingertips into his back, the friction of hips and waist against calves and thighs until he was lost. It was hard for him to tell where each one began and ended, they just sort of…flowed like waves. The kind of lovemaking – and that's what it was, not fucking, not sex, _lovemaking_ , like married couples do and what you find in the pages of romance novels, between the heaving bosoms and pretty, flushed faces. The kind of intimacy that meant something profound.  
  
He raised his head, green eyes glittering with a dark warmth. Fingers raised to push the unkempt, wavy hair from Billie's eyes, just as he had months before, during the afterparty and just before that desperate kiss that had effectively sealed their fate. They rounded a stubbled cheek to brush over lips that parted at his touch. Fuck, that's all he wanted to do, touch – to get everything on his fingertips, to commit all this to memory and get the fucking perfect send-off for their vacation. To give Billie something, some _night_ that he'd never want to forget.  
  
As those full lips opened to him, Lars met them with his own, tongue sliding into a welcoming mouth. A wanton groan trembled from his throat, breath growing heavier at the added sensation.  
  
"Billie…"   
  
The hushed sound of his name brought a lump to Billie's throat. He swallowed it down and returned his lover's kisses, conscious that the band across his chest was made of pure emotion at this disarming sweetness and unprecedented intimacy between them.  
  
A thought of Mike flitted past. The bassist had touched him gently like this, and over the years Billie had grown very nearly to hate the insistent softness of it, how it rarely escalated into need and almost never into the consuming hunger that characterised most of his time in bed with Lars. He'd assumed, given how strongly he responded to the older man, that it had had to do with the activity as much as the person.  
  
He had been wrong.  
  
Fine tremors drifted over dampening skin as Billie understood, finally, that he and his best friend had been going through the motions of being more than that to each other for longer than they had realised, the truth of it obscured by the strength of their friendship. He loved Mike, yes; but he had the same love for him now that he'd had as a frightened ten-year-old discovering that his new friend was a rock he could always lean on when life got difficult. That trust between them was what had led to sexual experimentation, and maybe that had been what it really was all along – two people who were so close that they both believed that they must be in love, simply because they cared about each other so much and had complicated it with sex.  
  
Because if Billie had felt with Mike the way he felt right now, with his lover's body sliding over his in languid tenderness, there never would have been anyone else. There wouldn't have been a fight about the exclusive or not status of their relationship because it wouldn't have been a question, nor would there have been a resulting fight with his wife; he wouldn't have been seeking alcoholic oblivion in a random dive in the city. He would not have met Lars Ulrich that night.  
  
His lungs expanded with a sharp breath and he murmured in a voice gone raw, "God, Uli." One hand rose to briefly cup the nape of the drummer's neck, pressing their foreheads together, and then he reached for Lars's hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the palm. As he slipped their joined hands down his body and curled percussion-callused fingers around his erection, Billie's eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his lover, all his barriers gone.  
  
He knew that his feelings would show clearly, if Lars chose to see. He didn't care. The words would not pass his lips but Billie could not deny that he'd fallen in love, and he would not conceal it the way he usually did. What was happening between them demanded honesty. And if Lars hadn't quite fallen the same way, well, he wasn't standing at the top looking down either. The reverent heat in his touch, the way his fingers danced across Billie's skin as if to soak in every aspect of him and memorise it; they spoke of something deeper than mere affection. Knowing that – _feeling_ it in every cell of his body – gave him the foundation he needed to continue to wait patiently.  
  
"Lars," he whispered, mouth rising for another shatteringly gentle kiss as he shivered in surrender to something larger than either one of them.  
  
The drummer released his breath in a sigh against Billie's lips. He was far beyond the self-imposed trappings of masculine decorum that had been in place for so long, even as late as earlier that day, when pressing kisses to kohl-free eyelids. Trappings that he'd felt the need for, learning from James and his almost – _whisper it, he might hear_ – redneck sensibilities. Getting the infamously reticent frontman to be totally, starkly, emotionally open with him was like nailing the drum track for _Dyer's Eve_ live – close to being utterly fucking impossible and something he'd had to work carefully on for a long time. Truthfully, it hurt to think he never did completely achieve it. Rehab did that, not him.  
  
Twenty-four/seven machismo had become Lars's unwanted bedfellow for many years. All men have a certain degree of it, that much was obvious, but around Hetfield and to a lesser extent Newkid, it had to be turned up to fucking eleven. He'd never been explicitly told not to do or say this or that – it would have had the opposite effect – but disapproving glares and cutting, almost snide remarks shot his way were more than enough for him to set indignant green eyes burning into the floor. At first, he'd found it incredibly uncomfortable, used to a life where not only could he do whatever the fuck he wanted, but he could get whatever the fuck he wanted, too. The growth of a spoilt Danish child into a spoilt Danish-American rockstar had been a relatively smooth one, but for that one little fucking roadbump of being told through a simple look, 'Don't do that'.  
  
A few times over the years both he and Kirk had slipped, sometimes together, sometimes one more glaringly than the other. Both perfectly comfortable with their sexualities, revealed to the public or not, neither really saw the big deal in a kiss here, a hug there, an offhand comment about sleeping habits. Jason and James clearly thought otherwise. Lars never exactly grew to resent those silent boundaries, surprisingly. He went along with it, for the sake of his lover. But now there was the faintest dawning in his mind of a terrible thought that maybe James had never become comfortable with his sexual orientation, something that was probably not discussed while he was getting better, and perhaps that was the true reason why he'd broken it off with his drummer – burying it and hoping it would go away. Burying Lars. Fuck.  
  
Then there was Billie. Lars had to laugh; that phrase seemed to have become the precursor for most of his damn thoughts these days. The oddly assembled frontman was emotionally open, quick to touch, to soothe, wanting to cuddle close at night and burrow into older skin, wearing his sexuality on one sleeve and his heart on the other, and his eyes could hold such brutal, vulnerable honesty. Everything Lars had been careful not to be, not so much anyway. _Fuck you, fuck you, I'm bulletproof._ Now, here, perhaps the heat had gotten to him, because something had jarred inside of him and split open, and suddenly he was touching, caressing, all feathery kisses and gentle thrusts. Billie reminded him what it was like to be held without thought of consequence by another man. And just now, Lars was remembering what it was like to hold.  
  
The centre of his palm burned as it was wrapped around his lover's erection, nerves buzzing beneath the skin at the linger of Billie's kiss. He supposed it might be similar to the sensation of a tattoo being done; it felt like it might be just as permanent. As the hand began to slide along hard flesh in time with the roll of his hips, Billie's eyes held his and fired meaning right to his heart. There was something else there that he hadn't seen before, or maybe he had and never realised what it was. A heat that didn't burn but seared him all the same. His own dilated eyes wavered in the face of it, and all he could do was stare back, for a few moments the sound of their own rhythmic gasps fading in his ears. He didn't dare break away.  
  
Finally, as tight warmth began to settle low in his stomach, he brought their foreheads together again and breathed out his lover's name in simple reply, eyes slipping shut.  
  
Lars was letting himself sink deeper, far deeper than he'd intended until recently. If he had been more conscious of his actions and less instinctive, that little voice in the back of his head might have been heard, reminding him that in his current state of mind, this was a dangerous thing. For both of them.  
  
Billie Joe let his own eyes close as Lars pressed close with a whisper and his legs dropped too, feet planting on the piled fabric to lend his hips a little more leverage as he thrust up. He knew his lover had seen something in him, judging by the flash of surprise in his gaze; what or how much, Billie didn't know, and he didn't think it mattered. At least not now. Not when his body began to reassert its hold on his awareness with a swift influx of pleasure. He made a wet, choking sound as sensation flared higher and higher, and then another, and another, a series of high-pitched moans bleeding out with every twinned movement.  
  
"Lars…ah… _ah_ …oh God…fuck…" He panted the loosely strung together words against the scruffed jaw above him with a sloppy kiss, the imperfect aim a marker of how thoroughly he was gone, lost to the moment and the abrupt build of tension singing through him. _High C,_ he thought incongruously and then gave up thinking altogether, existing solely for the rapture diffusing into his bloodstream.  
  
His hands moved to clutch at strong shoulders as a rumbling hum emerged from his throat, muffled by the way open lips dragged across skin in moist kisses, tongue flickering out to lick at the sweat on his lover's neck. Instinct drove his every action, each needy little sound made unconsciously as he rocked back and forth between the cock pressing inside him, sliding thick and sweet against sensitive tissue, and the tight fist stroking his own erection; the two matched perfectly in an unchanging tempo that dissolved Billie into a creature of incoherent need.  
  
Words and almost words tumbled into Lars's skin, dissipating into brittle, rising moans that rolled down his spine and increased the intensity of his rippling thrusts. His temple pressed to the side of Billie's head, raven curls of hair rubbing and dragging damp against his cheek while the younger man scattered blazing kisses over his neck, his jaw, his collarbone, all over. He felt the dig of fingernails flexing into his shoulders, felt the slide of a hip wet with beads of sweat, felt the seductive glow of a body heated with desire, with need, with something _more_.  
  
His own lips decided to travel, matching Billie's actions by mouthing at the curve of his neck, before coming to meet his lover's in an intense, soul-tasting kiss. Each languid roll of his hips buried him into tight warmth right to the hilt, the sensation of each sliding push-and-withdraw, push-and-withdraw matching the pull of his hand around a hardened cock and the wet twine of tongues gliding together. It all twisted something tight inside him, coiling in his stomach and bringing the warmth singing through his veins to a centrepoint, knotting his breath and making him choke as he raised himself up a little to look at his lover.  
  
Heavy-lidded eyes held a libidinous green glow that crawled out to caress where his hands couldn't be, as one moved to support a waist wracked with tremors and the other increased its speed just barely in time with his hips. Rasped breaths were peppered with weak groans and soft curses, and Lars began to feel that slow build, that hot swell that expanded through his gut and spread to his chest. His nerves shivered.  
  
That haze of heat, of humid night air and clinging bodyglow, of damp breath and damp towels, of high emotion and deep intimacy – it all blanketed them in a sheen of sweat and blurred everything into a dreamlike mist. Everything seemed softer around the edges, colours seemed richer, time and movement remained beautifully sluggish. There was nothing for him beyond their little space and the sharp, bright penetration of Billie's hazel eyes.  
  
That kiss reached in deep and pulled Billie out of himself, pinning him open as if he had flight-spread wings; a sensation that only intensified when his eyelashes drifted lazily to see Lars hovering close, green gaze searing into Billie's skin deeper than a sunburn, heat following the intangible touch.  
  
When their eyes met, electricity sparked through his nervous system in a full-body shock and the low rumble of sound from his throat sharpened into a tight groan. And though he felt naked in every way beneath that verdant glow he could not look away. There was nothing and nowhere else to hide, not now, not from this man or this moment.  
  
The trembling of his skin grew and spread until his whole body shook just a little. The drummer increased his double pace in slow degrees and Billie helplessly voiced approval, moans tumbling out amidst his open-mouthed panting. And still he stared into green eyes, feeling his soul being drawn out with every passing second, slickening his skin in the form of sweat that rubbed off on his lover, letting him absorb bits and pieces of Billie Joe Armstrong with each undulating thrust.  
  
It seemed as though his form should luminesce and maybe it did as he began to shudder in long, slow spasms, release pulsing in powerful waves that continued to crash over him, again and again, elongating his orgasm and magnifying it until the pleasure surging through each inch of him gathered into one great burst, accompanied by a breathless cry of Lars's name.  
  
The drummer himself was not far behind. The ebb and flow of Billie's climax, great swells of pleasure almost tangible as they rolled along his wet skin and wrought high moans from his lips, was spectacular. He watched Billie arch and shudder, something akin to awe in his eyes, as faster thrusts twisted out his orgasm and stretched it out before him to pluck and play like some sensual guitar string. As it built to a crescendo, every moment, every nuance of it playing out before his eyes, the younger man tensed around him and drew a wobbly moan out of a wide open mouth. The rise of heat inside him grew faster, more intense, deeper, penetrating his bones, dripping from his skin and falling from his lips, body overflowing and held in place by dilated hazel eyes.  
  
As Billie finally came with a strained cry, Lars held the spasming body beneath him, his own name reverberating in his ears and breaking his self-control entirely. His rhythm was lost, his speed increased, his throat constricted with the beginnings of his own exclamation, and he was blinded by white as the world dropped away.  
  
When it all faded back in, his temple was pressed against Billie's, eyes almost closed, and he was panting out the last embers of his orgasm against a stubbled cheek and feeling that beautiful warm afterglow sink through his skin. Resting heavily on forearms still affected by tremors, he pressed his mouth against Billie's cheek in an almost-kiss, wet and utterly feeble, feeling his lover's chest rise and fall against his.  
  
"Fuck," he breathed. A weak smirk ghosted over his lips, eyes slipping shut. He hadn't felt quite this drained, or sated, or happy in a long time. Or speechless. " _Fuck_ …"  
  
Billie huffed out a laugh. 'Fuck' summed it up nicely. He wound his arms closer around his lover's neck, aware that it definitely qualified as clinging but surely there were allowances when bits and pieces of him were still scattered over the cushions. A shiver cascaded down his spine, followed by half a dozen more and he let out another winded giggle.  
  
"I can't st-stop shaking. Shit. I don't think I knew my body could do that, but maybe I should've found out like ten years ago," he breathed in amusement and gulped more air.  
  
There was world-shaking sex and then there was world- _changing_ sex and as fuzzy as Billie's head was right now, he still realised that this fell into the latter category. It elevated things to an entirely different level between them. He wondered vaguely when that would hit Lars and how long it would take for him to freak out about it, surprised when the thought brought a tolerant smile. Noticeably absent was the punch of hurt. If nothing else, the profound intimacy of their lovemaking had given him some of that solid ground he'd wanted – something a little less tangible but even more important that he could cling to. Because while the speedbump at the beginning had proven that the drummer wasn't ready to keep things at this kind of level, what that had evolved into in the end proved that he could, someday, and more, that he wanted to – that he was trying. As long as Billie knew that for truth, he could deal with the ups and downs. He'd spent four years in a long-distance relationship with the girl of his dreams before convincing her to marry him. He could wait for Lars, too.  
  
His attention returned forcibly to the physical as his lover shifted enough to pull out and Billie groaned at the wet slide of softened flesh. Jesus Christ, he was sore. If Lars had been serious about joining the Mile High Club tomorrow it would be a very interesting experience indeed with how fucking sensitive he was now.  
  
He kissed the pierced ear by his mouth, his contented sigh turning to more giggles as another bout of shivers went through him. He was shaking like a fucking leaf, covered in sweat and come and drummer, and Billie couldn't be happier about it.  
  
Lars shivered himself as he slipped out of his lover, one that seemed to ripple into Billie and back again. He pulled his head back to regard the younger man through heavy-lidded, hazy eyes. The smirk made a deeper impression on his parted lips before he dipped down and claimed a kiss, slow and lazy. Billie's arms tightened around his neck, and twin soft, satisfied moans bled out into the night.  
  
"My arms are gonna give out, and I don't want this tubby fucker squishing you," he muttered, untangling himself and flopping over onto his back, sprawling slightly. He stared up at the makeshift ceiling, eyes going glassy as his body just started switching off from exhaustion. He fought a little to keep the awe from his voice, to scant effect. "What the fuck _was_ that?"  
  
It was new. So new and different and _massive_ , that he couldn't even give it adequate definition. Shit, he couldn't even be scared by it, it was so completely fresh. Not that he had the brainpower for that, anyway. He felt like he might dissolve right through the fucking floor, right through the slats of the veranda and soak into the sand below.  
  
Taking a deep breath and letting it shudder out, his head lolled to one side to regard Billie. The younger man's body was still vibrating, tremors scampering all over his sweat-slicked, golden-tanned, tattoo-scattered skin. This time he grinned. "C'mere."  
  
Forcing his leaden body into action, he turned onto his side and shifted closer to Billie, looping his arm around a lithe waist and pulling him in close. Suddenly they were right back in that motel, the grouchy heavy metal drummer and the perky pop-punk frontman, fucking spooning. Only, no – this wasn't like the motel. Billie hadn't asked for closeness, Lars had curled around him of his own will. There was no death threat accompanying the gesture, it wasn't even a gesture this time. Lars wanted to have Billie close, to have that body pressed against his, to hold him until the tremors faded. And the idea of that preceding tenderness, their lovemaking – it hadn't even blipped across his radar back then. He never would have been gentle. It was _nothing_ like that motel.  
  
His hand splayed against Billie's chest, almost feeling the sparks going off under his lover's skin. Almost _seeing_ them. Lips pressed against a damp shoulder blade, his eyes moved to look at the side of Billie's face as his brain began to settle. He swallowed, feeling something warm stir inside him.  
  
 _Something's happening here…something happened here, didn't it?_  
  
A thought he didn't dare voice. Instead, he breathed out a slightly nervous chuckle.   
  
"I'm gonna melt in a second, I know it."  
  
"M'way ahead of you, dude. If you find my liquefied brains could you maybe return 'em?" Billie relaxed into the warmth cocooning him, thinking that spooning was definitely the best way to stay close right now as he would probably be dead weight if he curled up to the drummer's side with limbs flung across him the way he usually did. It crossed his mind that maybe one reason he'd been so out of sorts after the jacuzzi was the way that the phone call had made Lars withdraw, leaving Billie alone. Call it girly, call it weak, he didn't fucking care. When his world got turned upside down, he needed to _touch_. He'd always been like that.  
  
Now, that touch soothed him – soothed away the last of the aftershocks and any lingering questions, and in another minute, consciousness too. He turned his head and grinned at his lover. "That? Was one hell of a love nest christening."  
  
At the eyeroll he raised a hand, the movement requiring far more effort than was seemly, and brushed his fingertips across Lars's cheek in an unmistakably tender action. Softly he insisted, "No, it was."  
  
The next moment found Billie's arm dropping and his head falling back into a more natural position as he lost the battle against sleep and his eyes closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks and a slight smile upturning the corners of his mouth.  
  
Strangely, it took Lars a while longer to drop off, a good half an hour after Billie had dozed off. It jarred inside him when he remembered that the last time he slept, it hadn't been pleasant at all.  
  
 _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?_  
  
Perhaps that had something to do with it. Really, though, it was because, while his body probably couldn't be stirred into action if a hurricane whipped onto the beach, his mind sort of…scampered around skittishly. It wasn't even intent on the bad thoughts, for once.  
  
Earlier, whilst cleaning Billie's wound and kissing him, all in one sluggish rhythm, an interesting thought had sprung into his head. _You finally have someone you can be like this with without feeling like you shouldn't._  
  
At the time, he'd buried it, promising himself he'd return to it later and find out what brought it on, maybe even understand it a little better. And now he did.  
  
He'd almost said it back when the two of them were bathed in moonlight and thigh-deep in the sea, cutting himself off when the pull of the promises of a supple young body and seductive hazel eyes became too much to resist. Now, though, when that body was at rest and the eyes were veiled by sleep, he felt he could say it. He _should_ say it.  
  
"I never in twenty years felt as comfortable being like this with James as I do with you."  
  
That warmth in his chest stirred, swirled around, mixed into something giddy and satisfying at his admittedly squandered honesty. A fresh interesting thought sprung up in the last one's place.  
  
 _Oh. I'm starting to fall for him.  
  
_ Forhelvede _._


	5. Chapter 5

"'EY, fucker!"  
  
Lars hollered across the villa, shattering the relative calm of Packing Morning. He'd meticulously been through everything and everywhere in the living room, rooting through drawers and digging in the couch, ensuring nothing was left behind. _And,_ he'd added grumpily to himself, _without any help._ So now he scuffed through towards the bathroom where Billie was hiding, shouting his annoyance. "Are you gonna come help me, or are you—"  
  
He stopped in the doorway, sentence dropping off into nothing. He snickered, and a sneering little smirk spread over his face.  
  
"Hey there, girlie."  
  
Billie jumped at Lars's sudden appearance and then swore as the straightening iron touched skin. He pulled it away from his head. "Jesus fuck, warn a person!"  
  
Yesterday, his lover's mocking expression and utterance would probably have wounded him – brought his insecurities crashing to the forefront. Today? Well. Today he stuck out his tongue and gave his hips a little wiggle to bring attention to his naked groin. "I know you know that I have a dick 'cause it's been in your mouth often enough recently. Besides, I remember when you had hair almost to your waist and wore spandex pants, dude. I can at least say that I've never worn spandex." A lot of other odd things it was probably best not to mention, but it was true that he hadn't worn the dancewear-inspired skin-tight leggings that had been such a huge part of eighties fashion.  
  
He sniffed in feigned derision and turned back to the mirror, trying to find where he'd left off. He picked out the spot and wove the iron into his hair, drawing it slowly along the length, smoothing it straight. He started the process all over with the next segment, attention diverting to the smirk reflected from the man still leaning in the bathroom doorway. Billie grinned.  
  
"What, you have some objection to me getting pretty? I'll skip the eyeliner if it makes you happy." He hadn't planned to bother with it but maybe he would, if it got a rise out of the drummer. He continued to watch Lars in the mirror; he could practically straighten his hair in his sleep, provided some fucker didn't startle him into touching the hot part of the appliance. He had already packed most of his stuff, other than what he was still using and the clothes he would eventually have to put on. The older man had, too, but he was apparently one of those that worried about leaving shit behind, whereas Billie knew he had everything critically important and if he forgot something else, it could simply be replaced.  
  
When no reply was forthcoming by the time he'd finished with the straightening iron, Billie unplugged it and left it to cool as he pulled out a kohl pencil, lining each eye with a deftness born of long practice and smudging the stark black with a Q-tip. Satisfied, he rubbed gel through his momentarily tamed locks until they stood up and wiped his hands on the towel.  
  
He came up to Lars with his lips pursed exaggeratedly and kissed his lover with an audible smack. Black-rimmed hazels sparkled. "There, all ready to be seen in public." He glanced down at himself with a laugh. "Nudity aside, anyway."  
  
Lars grimaced and leaned back as Billie planted the big wet smacker on him, muttering his distaste in his native tongue. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist as if the foulest taste on Earth had just been inflicted on him. "Maybe you should go to the airport naked, I'm sure that'd grab us a little more attention," he muttered irritably.  
  
Far from the hazy, romantic glow of last night, the drummer was right in the here and now and begrudgingly ready to slip back into reality, and all the odious but necessary trappings that came with it. Understandably, it made him kinda cranky.  
  
He hated leaving shit behind. He almost never did, such was his ritual of obsessive checking. He'd rather know for sure and double sure that he had absolutely everything he came with, knowing how much stuff would have piled up and would be waiting for him when he got home – unlike Billie, Lars had intentionally kept his cell off this entire vacation, giving the number of the resort to people under the explicit instructions only to call if it was a life-or-death emergency – knowing how busy he was going to be, and knowing he'd have no time to replace anything he'd left for the cleaners to swipe. Even on tour, when someone else was taking care of the important stuff, he liked to at least be in the passenger seat for everything, every decision being made, every option being discussed. And this was him when he'd chilled out a little.  
  
Feeling a prickle of indignance at the jibe at his younger self, Lars turned his nose up in visible disdain.  
  
"The eighties was a cruel time for all of us," he replied, eyeing the younger man in implication. He paused. "And the early to mid-nineties." Though he hadn't actually seen any photos of Billie in his younger, pre-fame days, he was willing to bet there were a few blackmail-worthy shots floating around. Maybe some to stick all around the room at his next birthday party.  
  
Hmm. Something to make a note of later.  
  
Stepping into the bathroom and crouching down in front of the cupboard, he dug around inside, past the spare towels and lightbulbs.  
  
"Besides, my hair was awesome, _and_ I got it the longest out of all the guys," he said a little too smugly. He shot a sly glance up at Billie's freshly coiffed mop before turning back to the cupboard to nose around some more. "You _wish_ you could have hair that awesome." Satisfied there was nothing of his remaining there, he straightened and continued with his rather self-justifying soliloquy. "I made spandex look good, too, skinny little fuck that I was. If I was wearing that shit these days, well…" He raised his shirt and patted the stomach that gave purpose to his 'tubby tubthumper' nickname. "I'd see what your problem was."  
  
Briefly, he narrowed sharp green eyes in Billie's direction, before giving him a pointed look under a creased brow, hands going to his hips.  
  
"What are you trying to say, man, that I wasn't _sexy_ back in the day?"  
  
Billie Joe watched his lover's methodical actions and near-defensiveness of the early days with open amusement. He knew his own buoyant mood was probably pissing Lars off even more, and that only added to it, really. Just because they were getting ready to head back to the real world didn't mean he had to be a sourpuss about it, and besides, while the romance that had existed under the moonlight might have dissipated with the sunrise, he felt damned good. All over. Incredible, drawn-out orgasms tended to do that to a guy. Well, unless the guy was Lars, anyway . Expecting overt happiness from the drummer that lasted more than a couple of hours was like asking for a miracle. He shrugged internally, not that bothered by his lover's personality quirks.  
  
As willing to make fun of himself as much as anyone else, Billie laughed. "I tried long hair. It's an extraordinarily bad idea – kinda looked like that chick on _Felicity_ with the out of control curls. I'm sure there are horrific pictures out there of that and a million other bad hair and fashion choices." He grimaced and added, "Though I'm pretty sure the pièce de résistance of bad photos of me would have to be the one that ended up in _Playgirl_. That's just unflattering on every level." Glancing briefly over his shoulder, his gaze acquired a mischevious heat. "I look a lot better from behind."  
  
Billie stepped close, dipping his fingers into Lars's waistband, the back of his hand gliding along his stomach as he stared into narrowed green eyes. "I checked all the drawers and the closet in the bedroom twice already. The only things left are mine, that I need to use before we go. And, I know what you've looked like for most of your career and I'd fuck any version of you." He appended that with a swipe of his tongue across his lover's bottom lip, letting it serve as explanation for his next remark. "You've always been armed and dangerous."  
  
He smirked and withdrew, sauntering back to the bedroom to get dressed.  
  
Lars watched Billie go, giving a dramatic eyeroll to no-one in particular once he was out of sight. He cast his eyes around the bathroom carefully, took a brief piss, washed his hands and followed his lover into the bedroom.  
  
While Billie continued to dress, he peeled back the sheets on the bed, swiping his hand underneath the pillows and even the mattress, before giving a lingering look at the closet. No offense meant to Billie, not that he didn't trust the younger man, but he had his routine and he preferred not to fuck with it too much. Getting a balance between not undermining his lover and satisfying his little inner checklist, he sidled up to the closet and gave a casual glance around inside. "Are you sure it's just your shit?"  
  
When Billie gave a mildly exasperated but fondly amused 'yes', the sort a wife gives an anxious husband when she has absolutely everything under control and he's tripping around in the background generally making things worse, he couldn't help but grin a little. He wandered to the bedside cabinet, looking into one drawer, before foregoing his search. At least for the time being. Pausing his routine would also take his mind off the prospect of flying, one that, even after all these years, he wasn't so keen on.  
  
"Okay, okay. I'll be sending you the shopping list of crap I left behind in a day or two."  
  
Deciding to hamper his lover's efforts at getting dressed, the drummer slinked over and draped his arms around tattooed shoulders, rubbing his temple into the thick nest of black hair and giving a coy look to the lined hazel eyes in the mirror. He smirked. "Armed and dangerous, huh? Well, yeah, I had arms." Nuzzling into the curve of the younger man's neck, he inhaled the scent of a sparkling clean boyfriend. _Clean despite the lack of actual washing during our shower this morning,_ he thought with a filthy inner chuckle. He pressed up close, closing his eyes and humming against skin that smelled like citrus and Californian warmth. Nibbling lightly at it, the same warmth from late last night stirring in his chest, he murmured simply, softly, something different touching his voice that he didn't even notice, "I love how you taste."  
  
Billie's stomach registered the slight rise in pitch, the softened tone, before his trained ears. When his brain caught up, he told the giddy little butterflies to fuck off. Certain masks of his own had been firmly back in place by the time he'd woken; he couldn't afford to be that open all the time, or even most of the time. Not if he wanted to stay whole.  
  
He smiled slyly, the expression infusing his voice, and countered, "Yeah, I'm addictive like that, didn't I tell you?" When Lars's eyes popped open under raised brows, Billie turned his head and dropped his shoulder to gain access to his lover's mouth, kissing him more aggressively than he'd intended; more affected by the unconscious sign of soft emotion than he was willing to admit. His tongue swept past lips parted in surprise to explore deeply, twining sinuously with the older man's as they found a rhythm. Hands tightened on his waist as he raised one of his own to thread through longish brown hair.  
  
When he finally pulled back, Billie murmured against wet lips, "That was a _real_ taste." Keeping it light. He rubbed his nose against Lars's cheek, nuzzling briefly before he stepped out of the embrace and picked up his T-shirt, yanking it over his head.  
  
"I'm gonna go raid what's left in the kitchen. See you out there." Letting him know that he didn't care if the room got checked and checked again. Billie knew rituals. He'd seen how agitated flying had made the drummer on the way here, but he hadn't been privy to anything that had happened before they'd met up at the airport. Now, with the way Lars had been hovering and not quite able to just trust that something as relatively simple as peeking into closets and drawers had been done, coupled with his revelation from the night before that his one brush with panic attacks had been in an airplane, Billie understood. As coping strategies went, it was on the annoying side, but he had enough of his own strange little habits for the very same reason that he wasn't about to throw stones.  
  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
The 'Please Remain Seated' light blinked and then went out. Billie Joe snagged the first flight attendant that walked past, asking for two blankets. He rolled his eyes at his seat partner's smirk.  
  
"Fuck off. I told you before that I freeze in these fucking things." Gratefully he reclined the seat and spread the blankets from knees to chest. He still wasn't entirely comfortable but at least putting the seat back redistributed his weight so he wasn't sitting ramrod straight and squirming right on a sore ass. Billie probably should have offered a blowjob instead of sex in the shower this morning, but the memory of Lars freaking out was a little too fresh. He'd opted for the fuck, pressed tight against the tiled wall with his lover pounding into him, and now he was paying for it. Exactly as his wife had teased him he would be.   
  
The beverage cart came by and he grinned at the drummer. "Let me guess: coffee that's half cream?"  
  
Lars snorted. "Yeah, right. I need something to make me more twitchy." He raised his head to the attendant pushing the cart, rubbing his scruffy chin. "Champagne, please."  
  
He realised this could be perceived as clinging tenaciously onto the remnants and memories of their vacation, and, he admitted privately, to a certain extent this was kind of true. But then again if you thought that, you were clearly reading too much into it. No, the main reason for the champagne was the fucking however-many-hour flight that they were barely five minutes into. He liked to think he was getting pretty good at it – fifteen-some-odd years of regular practice had to have dulled the spike of fear as the plane would roar louder and louder, too loud along the runway during take-off, or at the thought that there's such a thin cocoon of metal between you and a thirty thousand foot drop. He'd definitely gotten better – he'd managed to resist the strong urge to sit up front with the pilots this time – but the glass or seven of champagne during a flight was a vice he wasn't ready to let go of.  
  
Sliding down lower in his seat, flute cradled close to his chest as he nursed it almost morosely, he vainly tried his best to not think about the next few hours or what awaited him in a couple of weeks time. The task proving almost impossible, he pulled out a notebook from his bag and occupied himself with a few tasks he knew he'd be faced with once he was back home. A brief check-in for _So What!_ Magazine, skeleton setlists, or rather songs off the top of his head to bookend Puppets, for the European Escape tour that was fast approaching, leaving windows open for the inevitable press that was going to have to be done in the few days before he and the rest of the Metallica buried themselves in rehearsals…  
  
Lost in his own little Larsian world for a while, the drummer got so damn absorbed in correctly punctuating his _So What!_ piece and endlessly second-guessing himself on the last time the band played 'Roam' that it took a couple of moments of mild turbulence to swiftly remind him where he was. _Fandens._  
  
Eyeing the inflight magazine with considerable disdain, he flipped closed his notebook and sighed. He drummed out a haphazard rhythm on his table. He bounced his leg up and down and cast his eyes all around the cabin. He fastened his seatbelt and tightened it as much as he possibly could, muttering profanities under his breath when he struggled to loosen it again. He generally acted the irritating kid you never, ever want to have to sit near on a flight. _Fuckin' hell, are we there yet?_  
  
He rested his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, gaze coming around to settle on Billie's supine form. Mischievousness sparked inside him, tugging his lips into a smirk, and he gave a brief glance around to make sure no passengers or attendants were on their feet nearby. Satisfied, he raised his glass, drained the rest of his second serving of champagne and murmured in a quiet, lilting voice, "Hey, Bil-lie, if you're still cold, I can warm you up, if you want."  
  
Then, without a second's pause for Billie to reply, he slipped his hand underneath the younger man's blankets and began to rub at his crotch.  
  
By the time Billie had finished his coffee, Lars had finally settled into doing whatever the fuck he was doing in his notebook and so he snatched at the opportunity to doze off, because oblivious slumber was a much better alternative to strangling his boyfriend. Christ, just watching the fidget monster in action made him restless. He would honestly not have been surprised if that perpetual question had exited Lars's mouth – it was practically a visible thought bubble over his head. _No, dude, we're not fucking there yet and we're not gonna be for hours, so calm the fuck down._  
  
Of course, he kept all that to himself and tried to simply tolerate the antsy behaviour up to that first moment of potential escape when he snuggled into the blankets and let his head loll to one side, not really caring that he looked like an oversized child as it all began to fade away. Only to come rushing back right as he was on the edge of sleep as Lars started to fondle him.  
  
Hazel eyes flew open and Billie Joe angled his head to see the absolute glee on his lover's face. He reminded his body that he was thirty-four years old but clearly it wasn't paying attention, because two minutes into that intimate caress the drummer had a handful of hard flesh and Billie was torn between wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness and wanting to moan as his libido – and the rest of him – was forcibly awakened. Again.  
  
He did neither, acutely conscious of their public location, and how that made the clandestine touch incredibly arousing. He remembered his lover's words from the day before and his gaze caught fire. _By the way, I was thinking about fucking you in the bathroom on the plane tomorrow, but I guess we'll work out the logistics of it later._  
  
Billie shifted to lean close to Lars. "Give me a couple of minutes. I'll be on the lefthand side." Slowly he started to move the blankets, giving the older man time to withdraw his hand, and then he unbuckled the seatbelt and rose, heading for the tiny bathroom with a smirk playing around his mouth. Yeah, it would definitely ride that pain/pleasure line with how nearly raw he was already, but an orgasm might be the perfect way to get the drummer to relax a little. That would be worth the increased discomfort and then some. Besides, this was one club he'd never gotten the chance to join before, and the idea of the two of them fucking fast and hard with only a flimsy door between them and a plane full of people who would only believe it if they saw it made his cock ache.  
  
He shot a glance at Lars as he slipped through the open door, finding the green fire blazing from his eyes easily amongst the other passengers. _One brand new Mile High member coming right up._  
  
Once he'd ensured that Billie had found his heated gaze and the door had clicked shut, Lars stretched luxuriously in his seat and looked very much like the cat with the cream. Maybe not cream, but, wait a second…  
  
"Hey, um, could I get another champagne? Thank you."  
  
Now he was the cat with the champagne. Infinitely better.   
  
The drummer gave a grin to no-one in particular that almost curved right around his head, settling back with his glass and sipping from it overly delicately. He didn't see himself getting his notebook out again anytime soon, maybe not even for the rest of the flight. Sex in the bathroom of a commercial jet – somewhat surprisingly a new one on him, aside from the odd fumble in a private jet – would certainly take his mind off things. And once the last dregs of sparkling wine had dripped onto his tongue, he dug into a small pocket in his bag and twirled their last tube of lubricant around his fingers like a drumstick, brazen as all hell. Hard to believe they could go through _four_ of the fucking things in two weeks.  
  
 _Actually,_ he thought wickedly as he sloped out of his seat and strolled towards the occupied bathroom, _no, it's really not._  
  
A swift glance around and Lars tapped on the door, leaning close and purring low in his throat. "Spread 'em."  
  
He met Billie's lips before the door was even closed behind him.  


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  
  
_Uh oh. Shit. Regressed again._  
  
Lars snorted under his breath as he caught his reflection in a passing window as they were whisked back to the airport parking lot on the back of a buggy, away from the excited whisperings of the public. Neither of them had been assholeish enough to deny the few requests for autographs as they'd arrived at the gate. The Dane hadn't even been particularly bothered by the fact that Billie had garnered more requests than him, something he would surely have complained about under normal circumstances. Still being giggly and wobbly and dazed from not-quite-as-quiet-as-it-probably-should-h

ave-been sex kind of did that to you. He was sore, tired, giddy and just now noticing, as the buggy sped along, how very mussed his hair was.

Smoothing it a little, he flashed Billie a grin, cheeks colouring a little, and hissed under his breath. "We're such fuckin' teenagers."

Billie caught the drummer's motion and laughed. "We're rock stars, dude. Some days I'm not sure there's a difference." He cast a sly sideways glance at his lover and added in an undertone meant for Lars's ears alone, "But my ass definitely agrees with you."

The fans had signalled the true return of reality as he'd handled a Sharpie marker for the first time in a while, scrawling his name with a smile and taking a couple of pictures. He was glad he'd taken the time – and the teasing – to 'put on his stage face', as Adrienne called it. Even if his own hair was just as fucked up after their interlude on the plane, he realised as they slid past another large window. A grin tugged at his lips. _Oh, well._

The buggy brought them to where their cars were parked, side by each in their reserved spaces, and the driver unloaded their luggage. Billie popped the lid of the trunk and stowed his suitcase and guitar inside, the older man mirroring his actions with his own belongings. Perhaps it seemed strange that they'd both opted to drive themselves, but as he became increasingly aware the more they got to know each other, Lars didn't easily let other people do things for him – it was even rarer when it was something he could do himself, and know it would be done properly that way.

Billie Joe, well, he'd grown into the mantle of rock star, but he was also still that kid from Rodeo who'd lived mostly on his music. He did most things for himself because he felt comfortable doing that. Besides, he loved to drive. Once he got out of the city traffic, anyway.

Separate tasks completed; separate ways to go. After so many days spent wholly together, to say that it hurt felt almost anti-climactic and yet accurate, a leaden weight settling in his stomach as he moved to stand close to Lars. He shoved his hands in his pockets so as not to obey the urge to touch.

"Um, so…dinner. Saturday after next okay? I mean I'll talk to you before that but I know you have all that magazine shit and I need to, you know, spend some time in the studio…" Billie trailed off, hating how awkward this was all of a sudden. It always got awkward for at least a few minutes when he made overt mention of his wife, and that was exactly why they needed to do this. He couldn't deny how central she was to everything in his life or how much he loved her. He _wouldn't_. And that meant that Lars needed to be made to understand.

Billie only wished he had a better idea of how to go about doing that beyond sticking everyone in the same room at the same time. He dismissed the worry for the moment and summoned a smile that shone sunnily enough, if it was a bit brittle at first. "I really had a fantastic time, Uli. Thanks again for inviting me." His eyes crinkled as the smile deepened. "Best vacation I've had in a long time."

"I should fuckin' hope so, private islands aren't cheap," Lars murmured distractedly, digging his cell out of his pocket and finally turning it on. He raised his eyes back to Billie and offered his own ever so slightly forced smile. His eyes softened, giving the real smile. "I think it did some real good."

Sighing and leaning against his car, he squinted off into the distance. "Saturday, Saturday…I mean obviously we have rehearsal time booked for the near future, um, I don't know if it extends into the weekends because I'm not sure when everybody wants their days off. But, um, if we're due in, I'll just cancel it or break off early or something. It's not a problem. I'll bring wine."

Now, this he was good at. This he was comfortable with, he was used to it. The affected casualness, the keeping a safe distance, the façade of 'just friends'. It didn't mean he had to like it, by any means, but he was safe in this territory. Hell, the fact that they were so calmly discussing something he was utterly dreading said something for his abilities. _Years of practice,_ he thought wryly.

"Oh, I'll get Kirk to bring something, too. Other than his own eccentric self," he smirked a little. "Shit, I better actually let him know he's coming!"

He'd forgotten, in the swirl of time and high emotion, that he'd neglected to mention exactly who he'd been intending to drag along to the dinner, and missed Billie's reaction, if there was any, when his cell bleeped needily at him, a message dropping into his inbox. He glanced at the name, grumbling under his breath and shaking his head. "Fuckin' hell, here we go…well, I'm gonna pick my boys up in like, four hours, so I better go get some sleep." He snuffed out a laugh and quirked his eyebrow, eyes sparkling, as his voice dropped. "Because fuck knows we didn't get enough of that while we were gone."

Ducking into his car, he dropped his hand luggage on the passenger seat and came back to Billie. "Um, I guess I'll talk to you later, then. Give me a call next week, maybe we can go for a drink, boys' night out." He took care not to imply anything in that suggestion, keeping it innocent, light, out of instinct more than anything. Then, in the thick silence that followed, he gave a half smile and patted Billie's shoulder, squeezing it a little. At the barest flinch on his lover's face, he remembered that this was his injured shoulder.

Oh, there it was. Lars was wondering when it would kick in. The pang, the little ache in his midsection that served as true closure on their idyllic getaway. A flicker of that ache reached his eyes and softened his voice. "I hope we get to do this again some time."

His hand slipped from Billie's shoulder, from that familiar warmth, and pulled the Ray-Bans from his collar, slipping them on. "Go on, get the fuck out of here, you've got a family you gotta resume normal service with."

_Kirk._ Billie's utter relief at the inadvertent disclosure of the identity of Lars's guest tempered the ache of their little dance of 'too public', and how easily his lover slid right into that role. The older man had had a lot more practice, especially since he and James had shown very little affection around anyone else, but it kinda stung that their exit from reality seemed to have been buried so deep already.

Then he squeezed Billie's shoulder, reminding them both that it was sore – and why – and slipped on those goddamned sunglasses. Billie couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going." And because he wasn't reserved and had never cared that much about what he was seen doing in public, he wrapped tanned arms around the drummer in a brief hug and kissed the side of his jaw by his ear. "See you soon."

With that, he climbed into his car, laughing at the face Lars made when the stereo blared to life, and headed for a home whose occupants he'd missed dearly even as he'd enjoyed every second of the time away. It was a juggling act, like everything else in his life, but while he hit afternoon gridlock with an exasperated sigh, Billie thought he did an okay job of dividing his time amongst his priorities, and wondered if his lover really knew just how much of a priority he was.

Lars watched Billie's car pull away, unconsciously skritching at the spot where lips had been moments before, then stretched, yawned and bundled into his own car. Pulling his legs up and resting his heels on the edge of his seat, he flipped open his phone and read the two…wait, no, three messages that popped up. Oh, wait, now it was four… He gave up with a huff and stared off into the distance. Now that Billie was gone and he had nothing – aside from an intermittently bleeping cell – to distract himself with, that cold feeling scratched at the pit of his stomach. He shook his head and hissed under his breath, righting himself and starting his car.

" _Fuck_!"

He didn't want to go to this goddamned dinner. He did _not_ want to go. Like some petulant child digging his heels into the sidewalk, being dragged along to the dentist, he could quite happily avoid this impending night for the rest of his days. But he could also kick and scream all he wanted, he'd still have to go. He owed it to Billie to at least try, right? It understandably meant a lot to his lover, so how could he say no? And Kirk was coming, too, he wouldn't feel quite so much like he was being flung into the deep end with his guitarist as security.

But…fuck, man, it just wasn't _normal_. But what _is_ normal nowadays, what does normal even mean?

Stopping himself from thinking in circles with another muttered profanity, he realised that he was already zipping along the highway. Turning down the blast of Trivium on his stereo – _pesky kids!_ – he speed-dialled Kirk and set his cell into the cradle of his hands-free device.

"Hey, man. Yeah, I just got back in. Hey, um, cancel anything you're doing in two Saturdays' time." He sighed a little and added gloomily, "We have a date."


	6. Chapter 6

A fork clattered to the table, dropped from suddenly shaky hands as the doorbell rang. The sound had Adrienne poking her head in from the kitchen, where she was tossing the salad – that last-minute activity that wasn't so last-minute now. Billie stared at the partially set table. "Jesus Christ, they're early."  
  
His wife bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh as she scooped the remaining cutlery from his hands. "Go on. I'll finish up in here while you show them around." He flashed a grateful smile and turned to go, only to be spun back into a solid kiss that temporarily halted the churning in his stomach, replacing it with familiar warmth. His eyebrows drew together quizzically when she released him and rubbed off the trace of lipstick on his mouth.   
  
"You looked like you needed it." She shrugged and began to place the forks around the table. Billie kissed her cheek and left it at that as the doorbell rang again and he headed for the door, smoothing a hand over his rampantly curly hair before opening it.  
  
"Hi," he greeted the two men standing there, the first with a bright bouquet of flowers and an even brighter smile as he handed them to Billie. "Oh, thanks, they're beautiful." He had his free arm around Kirk's shoulders and was in the midst of pulling him in close when he realised the other guitarist might not take kindly to that. _Too late,_ he thought, and hugged him anyway, squelching the urge to apologise afterwards. The few times he'd encountered the rest of Metallica, Billie had felt that urge with varying strength and it galled horribly. He prided himself on never apologising for who he was. But brief though they had been, encounters with members of the original chest-beating band made him feel…well. Not to put too fine a point on it, girly. Like he didn't measure up. He didn't much like feeling that way, and he refused to change his normal behaviour in his own damn house, so Kirk would just have to deal with being hugged.  
  
"Come on in." Billie gestured in welcome and Kirk stepped through the doorway. Lars finally followed, his reluctance clear in his body language though he remained expressionless. Billie's mouth quirked up in silent appreciation as he took in the sight. This was the most dressed-up he'd seen the drummer since the night of the awards show, but that had been for the public. This – the freshly shaved face, the ironed shirt, the neat jeans, all in unfaded black – this was for him. "C'mere, you."  
  
He pressed a swift kiss to his lover's lips and then enveloped him in a hug, whispering by his ear, "You're the one that bites, remember?" Stepping away to shut the door, he accepted the bottle of wine with a nod of thanks and continued to talk, words spilling out in a nervous rush. "Adie's just finishing up with something, so I'll give you the grand tour—oh, hey, you have to see this."  
  
Billie stopped in the middle of the hallway and pointed to a fabric-covered board hung on the wall, criss-crossed bands of black ribbon holding photographs in place. Family, friends, his kids and their friends, the band at various stages; they were all represented. And in one corner rested a picture of one Lars Ulrich, sat on a sun lounger wearing swim trunks, sunglasses and a grin.   
  
"We used to keep all these on the fridge but they were getting dirty so Adie rigged this up. That's my favourite shot. A bunch more came out really well too, I can get them out later maybe if, you know, anyone wants to see them or whatever." Yeah, because that wouldn't be awkward or anything. He grimaced internally and tried to rein in his runaway mouth as his guests looked at the pictures, already knowing it was a vain hope that that would be the stupidest thing he'd say tonight.   
  
Lars had almost thrown up.  
  
Well, not quite, but it had been the closest he'd come in a while without the aid of alcohol. He never got overly nervous before shows – though there were a couple of notable exceptions – so it took other things to make his stomach do backflips. This dinner was most definitely one of them. In the hour preceding this, stood not really looking at a spread of photographs that remained mostly meaningless to him, the drummer had stood in his kitchen and damn near vibrated with all the nervous tics he had going on. Kirk hadn't been a great deal of help in what he'd said, but his presence and the smaller bottle of wine he'd brought aided him a little. On passing his bathroom at one point, he'd hesitated at the door, eyes on the toilet bowl, trying to swallow away the increasing tightness in his throat to little effect. The swirling in his stomach had come to nothing, though, and soon he was in the passenger seat of Kirk's Dodge, foot up on the dash, wondering if they could go around the block one more time.  
  
 _C'mon, you've always said you like putting yourself in situations you're not comfortable with,_ his bandmate had said as they sat in the silent car.  
  
 _This is different,_ he'd replied quietly, eyes on the Armstrong house.   
  
So here they were, here _he_ was, looking at photographs of a life well lived, keeping back the flush in his cheeks at his own presence on the board and almost dissolving in embarrassment at the suggestion they bust out the holiday snaps before the night was through. He trailed behind as the three of them began to meander through the house, nodding and murmuring vividly distracted appreciation here and there, Kirk almost having to drag him by his sleeve to get him to keep up. He forcefully kept his hands in his pockets, affecting nonchalance, as opposed to folding them across his chest or wrapping them around his middle like they were desperate to do.  
  
Billie's brief kiss at the door had helped him none either; if anything it made him worse. It wasn't like he didn't want to touch, to hug, to _really_ kiss his lover – fuck did he ever want to, but stronger was the need to keep at bay, to not…encroach. It felt like pissing on someone else's territory, y'know? This was the way he'd always been, the way he'd always had to act, and from the feel of things he was damned if his instinct was going to change anytime soon.  
  
Stomach and mind chattering away incessantly, Lars blinked when he realised that Billie was holding his hand out to take his jacket. He shook his head to clear it and shouldered the garment off, handing it over and turning his attention to a long mirror beside him. Brushing imaginary lint from his shirt and fiddling with his sleeves, he rolled a mantra around in his head.  
  
 _Not a big deal, not a big deal, not a big deal, don't be so silly, it's not a big deal…_  
  
As he straightened himself, he became aware of eyes on him, and glanced over to find Billie watching him. He slowed his activities, smoothing his palms down his front, and offered a nervous smile. The smile was returned, and when Billie turned back down the hall to hang their coats, Lars let his chin drop to his chest with a quiet, "Ugh." He scrubbed a hand over his face when Kirk came up behind him, eyebrow raised, meeting his eyes in the mirror.  
  
"You're doing well, man. Y'don't still feel like, and I quote, 'gutting yourself with a salad fork'?"  
  
"Shut up," Lars retorted with striking originality. Then, with a grin and a low giggle, he gave a stern demand. "Hold me."  
  
Kirk looped an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, chin resting on one of them while a tidy Danish head dropped back to rest on one of his own. "Seriously, you're gonna be fine. I'm glad I'm here, too, otherwise I would've sat at home worrying about how it's going."  
  
Lars smirked softly, letting his eyes close and feeling his stomach settle a bit. He didn't know what the fuck he would've done if Kirk couldn't come. Probably shown up drunk and ornery. Or hid. The guitarist's voice reached his ear again. "How are you feeling?"  
  
He snuffed a laugh. "Donington, times fifteen."  
  
"Oh, shit!" Kirk exclaimed in a hushed voice, tightening his arm around his bandmate. "Well at least all you gotta do is eat."  
  
"And not freak out. Sure." Lars paused. "Y'know, if I get drunk enough and I can't make out with my boyfriend, I'm probably gonna be all over you before this fuckin' night's through."  
  
"That a promise?"  
  
"It's a threat, baby."  
  
The two of them breaking out into chuckles, Kirk patted Lars's chest and slid from around him as Billie returned. Lars didn't know how much of their conversation the other man had caught, but he didn't much mind. He actually felt a little better, and couldn't help but giggle at Kirk's next gambit.  
  
"Are your kids still around, Billie? I wanted to be sure, just so I know that I can't walk around naked yet."  
  
Billie's eyebrows rose sharply at the question but a little grin appeared, too. "Yeah, Joey will need to be pried from his computer and his stereo, and Jake's…well, he _was_ in here," he concluded as they entered the spacious great room. Some version of Super Mario Brothers was paused on the massive TV with the Playstation controls scattered in front of it. He glanced at Kirk, the smile emerging in full. "If adult nudity were going to scar them permanently, I'm afraid the damage has already been done. Still, it'd probably be best to wait until they've gone to bed before you strip."  
  
Pink bloomed in his cheeks as he realised that it sounded like he was flirting, an impression that wasn't helped any by the fact that he had automatically checked Kirk out after that remark, or by his having overheard the tail end of the conversation. If Kirk was comfortable holding Billie's boyfriend and teasing him about making out, then he probably hadn't been bothered by Billie's hug, which was good. And he'd made the drummer laugh, and relax at least a little bit; Billie hadn't missed the tension that spun off of Lars in a near-visible aura. All of which made him grateful that the guitarist had accompanied his lover here. Anything that helped Lars feel more comfortable was welcome.  
  
There was a niggling bit of jealousy worming its way into him, though, that Kirk's touch could ease while his own only made things worse. He'd felt the stiff-armed way Lars had returned his embrace and the delayed, perfunctory response to his kiss. The lines of his body practically shouted, 'Don’t touch me!' – to Billie. He didn't have enough history with the drummer, enough _seniority_ , to be counted as a comfort-enhancer. Fuck, he was the reason his boyfriend was in such knots in the first place.  
  
Shoving those thoughts aside, he waved a hand at the rich caramel-toned room, overstuffed black leather furniture arranged around a sensually vibrant area rug by the TV. Photographs lined the top of the bookcase by the stereo that had been custom-fitted to hold vinyl albums, one smaller top shelf stuffed with 45s. The CDs were in one of the tall bookcases flanking the fireplace at the far end of the room; its mate held a growing collection of DVDs and a wildly diverse set of books: political non-fiction, romance novels, comic books, kids' books, a full set of _Goosebumps_ , British and American sets of Harry Potter novels. Smaller, slightly more elegant furniture faced the brass firescreen, and centred over the mantel rested a large portrait of Billie's parents, done from their wedding picture. It was the only one of his father that he had.  
  
"Um, this is our main living space, obviously. There's surround sound and, you know, all that stuff hooked up. It's not like the projection room Tré's got at his house, which is the coolest way to watch movies ever invented – you can lounge around and throw popcorn wherever you want and still feel, you know, like you're in the theatre – but it's good and I didn't have to renovate to set it up." He frowned at the toys scattered on the rug; he'd picked up everything not two hours before. Billie had no idea how one small boy could constantly make such a mess, especially when he'd been playing videogames. Joey had always been a bit of a neatnik, right from the beginning, but Jake left a path of destruction in his wake.  
  
"The dining room and kitchen are the other side, down the hall, but you'll see those in a minute anyway. Oh, the door by the front closet, where I put your jackets? That's the bathroom. Don't be surprised when you go in there. Adrienne painted it – I told her anything but pink, so it's a bright fucking red. Kinda cool. Um…" he trailed off as a ball of grey feline fluff raced past the doorway at breakneck speed, followed by his youngest child. "Jakob! What did I tell you about running in the house?"  
  
His son stopped dead and turned to face him with a sheepish expression. "Don't do it 'cause I might crack my head again and then we'd have to go back to the hospital and that scares the pants off you."  
  
"Right." Billie Joe had to laugh because that was exactly what he'd said; it was a good thing that he'd censored himself at the last minute because Jake had an excellent memory and probably would have spouted that back at him, too. "C'mere, I want you to meet my friends."  
  
He shifted his one-armed grip on both wine and flowers and placed the other around his son's shoulders. Pointing with the bouquet, he introduced them. "This is Lars, and this is Kirk. They're in the band Metallica. This is my youngest, Jakob Danger." He could see Jake roll his eyes; Billie always said his full name because he still got a thrill out of it.  
  
"Hi," he said shyly, tugging on Billie's shirt.   
  
Billie crouched down. "What is it, buddy?"  
  
Jake whispered, "He looks different without shades. Is he the same Lars you went away with?"  
  
Amused and puzzled, Billie nodded, and nodded again when his son asked if he could say something to Lars. What else was he going to answer? He motioned at Lars to also crouch down and the drummer did so, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Jake looked at him solemnly, fingering the collar of his crazily patterned Hawaiian shirt.  
  
"Dad said you picked out my shirt and I love it so thank you." He darted forward to leave a wet kiss on the drummer's cheek and then he was off and running again. Billie drew in a breath to reiterate the 'no running in the house' rule but let it out, knowing it was useless. Jake had pretty much two speeds: full throttle and full stop.  
  
He straightened with a rueful smile. "He does. We've had to peel it off him in order to wash it. Definitely spent too much time around his godfather in his formative years." Unable to tell anything from Lars's rigidly controlled expression, Billie mentally shrugged and made a short detour to the kitchen to drop off the hostess gifts, before returning and taking his guests to the door leading downstairs.  
  
"Upstairs is just bedrooms and shit, so I'm gonna show you my studio real quick and then we'll come back up and eat."  
  
Lars admittedly didn't care too much for this grand tour – his curious nature was beaten back by a short attention span and skittish nerves. He rubbed absently at his cheek where Jakob had given him that swalk. Normally he was pretty good with kids, but…fuck, everything about tonight just had him thrown off, so all he'd managed as Jake scampered off was a small, forced sounding chuckle. _Fandens._  
  
As the three of them descended the staircase, Kirk chuckled. "Jakob Danger, is that for real? That's awesome."  
  
Lars's bandmate and his lover got into a conversation about their guitars once they were in Billie's studio. Lars was divided. Part of him was jealous of Kirk's utter ease with the entire situation, and part of him was relieved that he himself didn't have to attempt stilted conversation. He cast his eyes around the room, rocking from side to side, hands twisting in his pockets a little as he lost himself in his thoughts.  
  
Billie's house was so different from his – warmer colours, much more of a family home. It wasn't like he was ever going to live there, fuck no, and he didn't know exactly what he'd expected, but this was certainly no smooth rock star pad and he sure as hell didn't feel like he fit in here. Even, at least to his own rather melancholy mind, that arrangement of photographs in the hallway was an example of how out of place he was – he didn't seem to fit the scheme, he didn't match anybody else, off in his own corner. On top of that, not only was his picture flanking one of Adrienne, dreadlocked hair pulled up into a high ponytail and glowing smile on her pretty face, but above him was the image of Mike, young, gawky, laughing, and with his arm slung around an equally young Billie. Fuck if Lars wasn't the proverbial square peg.  
  
God- _fucking_ -dammit mother _fucker_ , he was going to have to stop with all this negative fucking thinking. The night obviously wasn't going to go any quicker, and the more he mired himself in wretched thoughts, the worse it was going to get. The sudden sear of impatience at himself elicited a growl under his breath that he didn't even notice. He turned to Billie, hand raising to rest at the younger man's arm, thumb rubbing at a mark that wasn't there. Swallowing his trepidation, eyes flicking from Billie to the floor and back again, he spoke quietly.  
  
"Um, does Adrienne want some help with anything?"  
  
He was going to fucking _try_ , dammit.  
  
"Does," Billie began to repeat the question, startled at both its asking and the hand on his arm, warm through the thin material of his shirt. He interrupted himself with a short bark of nervous laughter. "Um, no. No. It's—thanks for asking, but she doesn't trust anyone with a dick to do anything in her kitchen that requires an attention span of more than two minutes. There may have been an incident with a plastic spatula once." He widened his eyes comically, a real smile settling onto his lips. "Seriously, everything's pretty much done. It's just, you know, it's not fancy or anything, it's just food. Um, we'll go eat in a sec. I wanted to show you something first."  
  
He stepped away, though reluctant to break the contact that Lars had initiated, and hauled out a guitar case from amongst the many stashed in the studio. Snapping it open, he lifted the sticker-laden instrument out and brought it over to the two musicians. He could tell that the drummer knew which guitar it was even before he said anything.  
  
"This is Blue." Aiming a smile at Kirk, whose easy chatter about their shared instrument had made for a grateful easing of his own tension, Billie explained the short version. "She's the last gift I ever got from my father and she's what I learned to play on. I had a replica made a few years ago so I could still get the same sound without taking her out of the case too often." He noticed Lars examining the stickers. "My sisters called me BJ when I was little and I fucking hated it. Don't get any ideas, dude."  
  
Billie scrunched his face up at the little smirk that inspired, inexpressibly glad to see it even if it meant that he'd probably be teased with the despised nickname at some point. Carefully he replaced Blue in the case with the same faint ache of separation that he always had and turned back to his guests.  
  
"Okay, we'd better go; I said we'd be a couple of minutes and got that look, you know. Valid, since I've been known to disappear down here for an entire weekend, but, yeah." This time his smile had a brittle quality. "Besides, I don't know about you guys, but I'm hungry."  
  
He was, too, but it didn't stop his stomach from churning as he led the way back up the stairs. At least it wasn't Lars going up alone to help Adie; that idea had unnerved the fuck out of him. No, this way he could observe the train wreck in progress. _Shut up,_ he told his suddenly pessimistic brain. _It's only a goddamned dinner. Everyone will be polite, we can get through this and my stubborn fucking boyfriend can figure out that my wife isn't an obstacle. Or whatever he thinks she is._  
  
Lars was shooed up the stairs by Kirk, being made to follow directly behind Billie. So skewed was his temperament, though, that he didn't even think to give his lover's ass a mischievous squeeze as it bobbed in front of him so tantalisingly. He did, however, have the presence of mind to draw attention to Billie's nickname.  
  
"What about Beej? Or B-Jo?"  
  
"Yeah, like a rap star," Kirk piped up from behind. "Ne-Yo, J Lo, B-Jo."  
  
This caused a ripple of giggles, and they sounded at ease enough. But then again with Lars feeling as out of orbit as he did, he could have been wrong.  
  
Then they were at the top of the staircase, the door to the studio closing behind them, and this was it. Nothing else to delay them. The three of them moved through into the dining room, Lars unconsciously tugging at his shirt collar, the eternally friendly Kirk complimenting Jake on his outfit and asking him if he had any interest in surfing. The drummer looked over the table, at the modest spread not quite complete, large space in the middle indicating that the main dish was on its way.  
  
And when Billie ducked out to call upstairs for his other son to come down, it arrived. Adrienne stepped into the room, mighty lasagne held aloft in oven mitt covered hands. Kirk immediately offered to help, moving the wine glasses aside as she set the dish down on the table. Lars just sort of stood off to the side, feeling pointy and awkward. When Adie straightened, he took a breath and finally greeted her.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Couldn't knock a classic. Especially when it was accompanied by what might have been a smile tighter than a drumskin. His gut clenched a little when she met his eyes and returned the greeting.  
  
Billie returned, thankfully, and moved close to Adie, close enough that their arms brushed and they exchanged a brief smile, and Lars's eyes shot to the floor in momentary panic. He swallowed hard and cursed himself inwardly. _Would you quit acting so silly? That was nothing and you're freaking out already. You're like a fucking…deer._ Absurdly amused by that thought, Lars sputtered out a snigger and had to shake his head in response to the odd looks he got for it. "It's nothing, never mind."  
  
He wondered silently if he was supposed to pull Adie's chair out for her, or something. Ugh.  
  
The quick smile from Adrienne at his eyeroll over having to drag their eldest out of his room was a paperthin buffer against the tension in the room, which had ratcheted straight up with her appearance. Billie Joe hoped his return smile did the same for her. He knew that she was nervous, too, and uncomfortably aware that she was the source of all this, but also determined. Adie was no more likely to back down than he was. Good thing they didn't have too many serious fights because the few they did have were spectacular.  
  
He took the oven mitts and deposited them on the sideboard as she extended a hand to Kirk. "Hi, Kirk, I'm Adrienne, or Adie. Either is fine. Billie wasn't sure how strict a vegetarian you are so we went with vegan everything." She smiled brightly as the guitarist shook hands and thanked her. Her eyes flickered to Billie and he didn't think anyone one else would notice that she had to steel herself a little as she moved forward to properly greet his lover.  
  
"It's good to see you," Adrienne told Lars. She took his hands and leaned in, unknowingly kissing his cheek right over where Jake had earlier. "Thank you for coming."  
  
Billie bit his lip at the resultant mix of emotions in expressive green eyes, though he knew each was a mere hint at what the drummer really felt. He stifled the impulse to laugh: kissed and claimed by three Armstrong family members. The impulse died as the fourth finally joined them. While the rest of them were also dressed mostly in black – Jake's burst of colour excepted, of course – Joey wore his midnight-coloured clothing like a shroud of gloom as he slunk into the room and sat down in one of the two places missing a wine glass without looking at anyone.  
  
A bewildered frown crossed Billie's face. Last year, he'd had a happy child who knew how to laugh. He still wasn't entirely clear on how to deal with the moody creature who'd taken his place over the last few months. He remembered a screaming argument with his mother when he'd been about fifteen, and her wish that someday he'd have a kid just like him. It amused him in the abstract sense, this karma coming around to bite him in the ass, but on a practical level it frustrated him more than anything else.  
  
"Joey, this is Lars and this i—"  
  
"I know who they are. I'm not blind and I can read," he sneered. His tone became more civil as he addressed their guests directly. "Hey. You guys play some cool stuff."  
  
That, apparently, was that. Having acknowledged their presence, Joey proceeded to ignore them and reached for the glass of water by his plate. Billie exchanged a speaking look with his wife but at her tiny shrug, he let it slide. As his son had been half-decently polite to the Metallica musicians, if not so much to his father, he didn't want to make a big issue out of it. Not right now, anyway. They could have a chat about his attitude tomorrow – for all the good it would do.  
  
"Um, shall we?" He swept a hand over the table and took his place at the end by his silent son, his wife seating herself at the far end and encouraging Kirk to sit beside her, Jake on her other side. That left the remaining chair beside Billie for Lars, and he was both grateful for the space left between his lover and his wife, hopefully easing both their nerves a little bit, and apprehensive about his own ability to carry on a normal conversation with this half of the table.  
  
Okay, okay, Lars was settling a little more. This was good. His nerves had sparked sharply when Adie kissed him and had introduced a little of the wealth of skittish emotion into his eyes that he was trying to keep buried. This was tempered, though, by amusement at Joey's angst and begrudging civility. It was an uneasy balance, but a balance nonetheless.  
  
He flashed another smile to Billie as he seated himself, feeling better for the fact that he could sit next to his lover and not feel quite so much like a fish out of water. In fact, it boosted his confidence enough that he took it upon himself to pour the wine. He stood again and lifted the uncorked bottle of red. "Okay, who's having this?"  
  
All three seated adults answered, and he took care not to give too much thought to who he served before who – that would have been crossing into absurd paranoia. He glanced at Billie as he finished filling his glass, not exactly needing approval, but maybe unconsciously seeking some kind of silent recognition for his efforts.   
  
_This is me trying. Fuck anyone that says I'm not trying._  
  
Lars sat back down, poured himself a glass of white, plates were filled and one of those wonderfully awkward silences descended. The kind where the longer it goes on, the more nobody wants to break it, and it just gets worse. Kirk cast his eyes around the table before looking back to his plate and swallowing his mouthful. "We've been having a lot of weather, huh?"   
  
This was met with two uneasy chuckles and a pointed glare from vibrant green eyes. Kirk mouthed a silent, 'What?' to his bandmate, and Lars responded by glaring again, before looking down to his meal. Another minute crawled by, and he decided to break the silence himself this time.  
  
"So, either of you two boys learning any instruments? Dad helping you out?"  
  
He realised that he'd probably only get the barest mumble of response from the eldest son, but anything was better than spiky silence or Kirk coming out with any more dumb remarks. He also sort of wondered exactly how much the rest of the family knew about his and Billie's vacation, and more to the point, if Joey had been perceptive enough to figure anything out past whatever he'd been told. The thought was quite a horrifying one, and maybe the relative safety of talking to the kids wasn't such a safe one after all.  
  
 _This is so ridiculous,_ Billie thought after Kirk's comment fell flat. _We're all grown adults experienced in fucking small talk and the best – the_ only _– thing anyone can think to talk about is the weather?_  
  
He seized on the question about instruments with a grateful smile at his lover. He could tell that the drummer was making a huge effort here and despite the rampant awkwardness, it gave him a warm little glow in his midsection. Lars obviously considered this important because Billie did, and that meant so much to him.  
  
Glancing at his sullen offspring, he looked heavenward and answered, "Yeah, Joey and I started guitar lessons last summer when I was on break from touring and picked it back up when the tour ended. He's pretty good." Pride softened his voice and his son flicked a glance at him, his mouth curving up for a millisecond before resuming the perpetual pout. _What do you know, there's my boy after all._ At least he hadn't gotten into the make-up that often went with his chosen demeanor. Or was he too young for that anyway? Adie hadn't been allowed to wear make-up until she'd been thirteen; were they going to have to enforce such a rule for their son? And why the fuck was he thinking about all that now? Oh, yeah, because he frequently wore make-up himself and even without any tonight, this whole situation, with Lars's bandmate present, had him questioning his own masculinity. Right.  
  
Noticing the shimmer and dance of colour as his youngest squirmed in his seat, Billie grinned. "You wanna talk about your lessons, Jake?"  
  
Jakob nodded vigorously. "Tré made me my own drumsticks so they're not so big and he lets me bang on his kit even with the snare thing on but I'm not allowed cymbals 'cause he got hit in the head once and he doesn't want me to get a metal plate like him. And Dad doesn't like hospitals, anyway, so that'd be bad. But he asked me if I could do this and when I could do it he started to show me some rhy—rhy—some stuff," he stumbled over the word as he bounced his leg, one hand patting his head, the other rubbing his stomach, each in a different rhythm. "It's _fun_!"  
  
Billie laughed, appreciating the smiles his son's run-on sentences brought to the table – well, to the adults, anyway. He'd given up on expecting any real expression of happiness, or speech, from Joey. "I turned him over to Tré once he started really getting into it. I mean I play drums, but not at the same level. Besides, he gets pissy if he thinks he's being gypped any godfather privileges."  
  
He shared a look with his wife, both of them remembering the long discussions that had led to naming Tré as first Joey's and then Jakob's godfather, a move that no one but the two of them and Billie's other bandmates had ever quite understood. Because the very reason that most people assumed they would have named Mike – the closeness of their friendship, discernable even without knowing the true nature of their relationship at that point – meant they knew that if something had happened to Billie and Adrienne, it would have devastated Mike. Tré was better equipped to deal with that tragedy.  
  
Perish the thought since they weren't looking to have any more kids, but idly Billie wondered if Adie did get pregnant now, if they would end up finally naming Mike instead. He remembered when they had decided to try for Jake, and the sweet intensity and utter intimacy of the first time they'd made love with no protection at all, deliberately courting fate. He realised with a jolt that the night he and Lars had spent on the veranda not two weeks ago, making love on a pile of purloined cushions and towels, had had the same kind of feeling to it, and it had left him equally undone.  
  
Equally bound.  
  
His grin faltered a little at the revelation. With his wife, it had been a reaffirmation of what they'd already shared. With Lars, it had been brand new, and no less powerful for the knowledge that his lover might not feel it as strongly.  
  
Billie looked at Lars, veiled fire burning in his eyes for a moment until he tamped it down, desperately trying to think of something else to say as his mind blanked.  
  
Lars had visibly brightened on the information that Jake was a budding tub-thumper. He grinned as the youngest of them spoke, the smile lighting up his face. "Really, a drummer? Well you're definitely gonna have one up on me. I had a kit when I was fourteen, and I was as far from a child prodigy as you could probably get. You know, I was nowhere near the skilled performer you see sitting here today. I actually took lessons after our first album. I guess the strangest thought is that if things had gone a different way, I'd be on TV on the courts of Wimbledon or wherever instead of sitting right here. So, if you get really passionate about it…" He made a straight-ahead motion from the middle of his forehead. "You know, you should keep at it."  
  
He'd happened to look at Billie just as the other man had looked at him, and caught the heat glowing behind his gaze. God help him, he actually blushed a little in the face of it. He opened his mouth momentarily to say something when it disappeared, but he never knew exactly what because he closed it again and looked back down at his plate, shrinking into his seat a little. _What? What the fuck did I say?_ The look stirred some things inside him that, right then, weren't particularly welcome, and thus dashed his growing confidence as he tried to stave off various urges.  
  
Coming to the conclusion that even talking to the kids held no safety, Lars decided to just shut the fuck up and let someone else steer the conversation in the wrong direction. Thankfully, Kirk piped up again.  
  
"Damn, this is really good," he said around his mouthful, pointing his fork at his serving of lasagne. He looked up to Adrienne. "Did you make this from scratch? It's tasty. Compliments to the chef."  
  
Lars reached across to take another couple of slices of garlic bread – oh yeah, he was going to smell awesome – and somehow happened to catch Joey's eye as he reached for his water. The drummer gave a little smile before both of them looked back down to their plates. Forhelvede _, get me out of here,_ he hissed inwardly when he realised they'd only been at the house for twenty five minutes. While Kirk talked about…some fucking thing, he wasn't even paying attention, Lars glanced around the table. He didn't dare look at Billie, resigning himself to the fact that he'd probably catch his eye, or the younger man would look a certain way, or even something as tame as a pink tongue peeking out to lick at sauce at the corner of his mouth…fucking hell, something was bound to make his stomach swirl in an entirely different way, and he just could not do that, not here, not tonight. No, until he pulled some confidence back, he was content to resort to the equivalent of sticking his fingers in his ears and going 'la la la la'.  
  
Unfortunately, his eyes happened to fall on Adie just as this train of thought came to a stop, and a untimely, loud thought crashed into his mind.  
  
 _I'm fucking your husband._  
  
Green eyes bulged and Lars choked on his mouthful, coughing harshly, face going red from the lack of breath and the shock of such an abrupt thought. He heard chairs scrape and worried voices but didn't see whose they were, face turned down towards the floor. A few horrible moments passed before he managed to clear it, gulping down air when the coughing subsided. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that he was being offered water by someone, he wasn't sure who. He ignored it and reached for his wine, necking the entire glass and putting it back on the table with a little more force than was necessary. He swallowed, coughed a couple more times and took a deep breath before straightening, smoothing out his shirt. "M'fine. Sorry," he muttered curtly, picking up his knife and fork again.  
  
Billie Joe poured another glass of wine for his boyfriend and squeezed his shoulder before sitting back down, his own breathing resuming a normal cadence as the crisis passed. The drummer's face had been a rather alarming shade of crimson while he'd coughed and choked, and Billie had simply hovered, knowing that as long as the coughing continued he could still breathe and didn't need assistance, but feeling helpless nonetheless. Adie's hand around his elbow had reminded him to stand back. She was the one with the CPR courses, after all. She'd taken the first round whilst pregnant with Joey, saying that it made her feel better prepared, and had kept her certificates current ever since.  
  
He drained his glass of wine and refilled it, and Adrienne's – Kirk shook his head and smiled as he mentioned being the designated driver. Sheepishly Billie muttered something about having a terrible memory and sat down, again. He felt all fluttery now, and the wine wasn't really helping, particularly as he'd told himself he was going to go easy on the alcohol tonight. His hand seemed to be operating independently of his brain, however, as he gulped down another mouthful and then forced himself to put the glass down and continue eating.  
  
Another awkward silence descended, unbroken this time by Kirk and Adie's friendly chatter. It was abruptly ended by the quietest table occupant.  
  
"Can I go now?" Joey asked, tone devoid of any expression. He laid his utensils in a neat line along the centre of his empty plate and looked expectantly at his mother.  
  
"You don't want any dessert?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding me? With how fucking tense it is in here? No, thanks."  
  
The silence resulting from that outburst had the texture of shock, not awkwardness. Billie exchanged a glance with his wife. They'd talked about this, knowing it would come up sooner or later; he just hadn't expected it _now_ , of all times, though maybe he should have. Knowing how he'd behaved as a teenager; knowing that even if he didn't understand all the reasons behind it, Joey would have picked up on the importance of this evening to the adults: Billie definitely should have expected a surfeit of attitude.  
  
Billie's hand shot out and grasped Joey's chin, forcing his son to look at him, letting him see his father's anger and disappointment clearly. "At 12:01 a.m. on your eighteenth birthday, you can come to me and curse a blue streak if that's what you want to do. Until then, you will keep a respectful tongue in your head and refrain from using that kind of language in this house. And if you think I'm being a hypocrite, you're fucking right I am. I'm thirty-four years old, Joseph, not eleven, and the rules are different. I want you to apologise to your mother."  
  
The small head movements the boy made were too tentative to break Billie's grip and long lashes so like his own obscured dark eyes as he murmured, "Sorry, Mom."  
  
Adrienne graciously accepted the apology and Billie tilted Joey's chin up a bit more until their eyes met again. "Thank you. You may be excused from the table." He let go, brushing a thumb across one chubby cheek in a tender gesture before withdrawing his hand completely. A hint of stricken gratitude accompanied the relief in Joey's expression as he nodded and fled. Listening to him run up the stairs, Billie's stomach twisted, wondering if he'd been too harsh or handled it all wrong. He was experienced in dealing with small children by now, but when it came to disciplining after they hit puberty, he was operating in the dark.  
  
He tried to smile at the rest of the table. "Sorry about that."  
  
Jakob scooted over into the vacated chair and put a tiny hand on Billie's arm. "When Joey gets like that, Grandma says he's just God's revenge on you. So it's okay, 'cause there's a reason."  
  
Billie Joe looked at the earnest little face staring up at him, and then at his wife biting back a smile, and did the only thing he could: he cracked up.  
  
Lars had echoed Joey's eyeroll once the surprise at his profanity had subsided. _Good to know that I'm not completely fucking oversensitive, kid._ He wasn't particularly looking forward to the time when Myles reached that precious age, but it would be nothing if not a challenge, and he did like challenges. Fuck it, that was a good couple of years away yet.  
  
He simply couldn't bring himself to laugh with much sincerity at the precocious Jakob's simple reassurance, he wasn't in the right frame of mind. But seeing Billie laugh, seeing him break into a wide, bright grin, seeing the corners of his eyes crease and hearing his bright, almost relieved sounding laughter did draw a smile from his lips. It sort of loosened all the tension inside him, the knots in his stomach relaxing, the tightness in his throat fading. They didn't completely vanish, by any means, but it was quite the relief after over an hour of it.  
  
He was struck with a sudden urge, swooping low in his stomach, to nuzzle at the younger man's neck. He buried it.  
  
It did, however, relax him a little more – it didn't improve his mood much, and merely looking at Billie did do the exact thing he feared, stirring that urge, but it did relax him. Enough for this subdued Dane to fade back a little, for a more familiar Lars to tentatively step in. He washed down his bite of garlic bread with wine, that pleasant warmth that came with alcohol burning faintly in his midsection, and leaned forward a little to speak to Jake.  
  
"God's revenge? Has your Dad been really naughty?" Something wicked danced just behind his eyes, but the rest of his face and his voice held a boyish overenthusiasm. "Has he been a bad boy? You want me to slap him on the wrist?"  
  
Beside him, Kirk raised his eyebrows, a slightly incredulous smile on his face. Lars kept his eyes on Jake and seemingly had gotten over his burgeoning issues. In truth, after that sudden thought that had shaken him so badly, he'd fallen back on what he'd always done and, foolishly, pushed out of his mind the fact that Adrienne was even there.  
  
 _Been really naughty? Slap my wrist? What the_ fuck _?_ Billie saw Kirk's subtle yet overt surprise out of the corner of his eye and he felt pretty much the same. Times ten, maybe. A quick glance at Jakob showed nothing but puzzled curiosity, thankfully too young to even notice the layers of nuance around Lars suggesting that he punish Billie like an errant schoolboy around the turn of the last century. Or mid-twentieth century, he supposed; a hundred years ago they were probably still using the strap in schools.  
  
Sudden, shocking heat flooded him at that thought and if he'd had less of a firm grip on himself, Billie would have let out a moan. But he'd been reining everything in so tightly tonight that no sound escaped, and though he felt warmer he didn't think he'd actually flushed. What the hell was wrong with him? Who got half-hard from thirty seconds of imagining his boyfriend _hitting_ him? Jesus!  
  
Seeing his son's expectant expression, he realised that he was supposed to answer that. Billie opened his mouth and an exceptionally eloquent, "Um," emerged. Alone.  
  
He followed the boy's gaze to Adrienne, who smiled when Billie made eye contact. He had the feeling that she knew exactly what kind of imagery had played in his head and when her smile tilted slightly, dimple appearing in her left cheek, he groaned inwardly. He knew that look. That dimple all but shouted, 'I love it when you squirm'.  
  
"I think that sounds fair, don't you?" she said sweetly. Jake nodded agreeably and hopped back into his own chair, going back to his food. Mom Had Spoken. And in this case, Adie was the primary disciplinarian in the family. They had no room for an archaic 'wait until your father gets home' type of arrangement, not when Billie Joe was gone for weeks or even months at a time whilst touring. He did what he could, when he was home or when he was able to bring them all with him, but a great deal landed on the slender shoulders currently exposed by the deceptively demure neckline of her sleeveless black dress, sheer fabric clinging to her collarbone.  
  
Billie recognised that he was stuck; there was no way to back out gracefully with Jakob there – it would undermine his wife's authority when it came time to mete out real punishment to their kids. He couldn't laugh it off the way he might have with only adults in the room. He'd say that didn't know why it freaked him out so much, either, because truly it wasn't that big a deal…except it was. Or more precisely, what it had linked itself to was. He didn't know if he was prepared to handle that sort of reaction or fantasising when it wasn't in the heat of the moment, or in private, neither of which conditions applied to this situation.  
  
Not daring to look at anyone, Billie extended his arm towards Lars, forearm already bared since he'd rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt before eating. He didn't even know which way his hand should face but he knew the inner wrist was more sensitive and so he held it palm up, fingers curling a little at how vulnerable it felt, and braced himself.  
  
Positively delighted with the 'um' that breached Billie's lips and not even hearing Adrienne's consent – blocking it out was rather more accurate – Lars saw Jake's nod and swung his gaze to Billie. The younger man had his eyes averted to the corner of the table, his wrist presented. The drummer grinned and grasped Billie's hand, fingers curling to interlock with his lover's, an instinct to offer some reassurance.  
  
"'Ey, c'mon," he murmured, giving Billie's arm a little tug and trying to catch his eye. There was softness in his voice. His next words, though, were coloured with something a little darker. "Take it like a _man_."  
  
He shifted his chair out so as not to smack his elbow on the table, then raised his hand and brought it down sharply against tattooed skin, giving Billie the slapped wrist he deserved. It wasn't too hard, but it sure as fuck wasn't soft, as was evident in the pink marks that appeared shortly after, forming the outline of his fingers. Billie had flinched a little under the blow, and that, coupled with his compliance, made his stomach jerk in an exceedingly pleasant way.  
  
He let go of Billie's hand, a touch of smugness in his smile. "There ya go. Good boy." He turned to flash Kirk the same smile, but along the way his gaze found Adrienne, and the smile faded. A stone dropped in his stomach, his gaze faltering. _Did you_ actually _just fucking do that? Right in front of her?_ He looked back to his meal, face heating up, muttering. "Um, sorry about that, that's more your job, right?"  
  
Lars Ulrich normally found it extremely difficult to apologise. He was who he was, and most of his actions and words, he stood by. Now, here, with Adrienne, he felt the constant need to apologise, was almost falling over himself to do so. What for, though?  
  
 _For being with Billie._  
  
His eyes widened and went a little glassy as he stared down at his half-eaten lasagne, ironically like some chastised child. And a voice, a shout that had been absent from his mind for almost two weeks suddenly chose to reappear again.  
  
 _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?_  
  
He swallowed. Very hard. The table gave a sudden jolt, the china and glasses rattling as Lars pushed his chair back and caught his knee on the table leg. "Um, your bathroom, I'm gonna...I'll…" Without raising his eyes, he rose and hurried out of the room. "I'll find it."  
  
He was totally confused, utterly mortified and he couldn't even adequately explain to himself why.  
  
Now, _now_ Billie Joe was blushing, his face pinker than the fading finger outlines on his inner forearm, embarrassed almost to the point of humiliation by the way his body had jerked when Lars had slapped him; by the rock solid erection this weirdness had produced. He saw the drummer's smile die when his field of vision encountered Adrienne, and his subsequent remarks and flight made Billie want to growl in frustration. Hadn't Lars even heard what she'd said?  
  
The pressure to say something, anything, in the void left by his lover's swift departure eased when Jakob's head nodded forward and Adie laughed. As usual, their youngest son wasn't doing anything halfway – when he finally got tired, it was like his batteries simply ran out. "Sleepy, little man? Why don't we get ready for bed then, hmm?"  
  
His chin set stubbornly and Billie offered a brief prayer to the Powers That Be that he would only be saddled with one version of 'God's revenge'. Though Jake had a few years to go yet (though he'd thought he'd have more time than this before hormones owned Joey, too), he didn't think he'd be able to handle two moody, mouthy, gloom-and-doom teenagers in the house at the same time without killing one of them. Or possibly himself. "But I wanted ice cream."  
  
Adrienne chuffed him lightly under the chin. "How about we get Daddy up in the morning and he can make waffles for us, and you can have a little bit of ice cream with your waffles? How does that sound?"  
  
"Okay," he agreed. Big, dark eyes turned to Billie. "Can I have a song?"  
  
He hesitated only a second before nodding, feeling a little like _he_ was the teenager and had just been told to go write on the blackboard while he was trying to hide the tent in his pants. But Billie wasn't a teenager, no matter how much he felt like one some days – and when he had been, he most likely would have told the teacher to fuck off, anyway. Besides, there were few things he loved more than singing a lullaby to his children. Joey had already outgrown it; Jake would soon enough. He rounded the table and lifted his son into his arms, surprised when Kirk stood, too.  
  
"I'm just gonna…" The guitarist finished his sentence with a wave in the general direction of the bathroom, and Billie smiled.  
  
"Thanks. I mean, just…yeah, thanks," he stumbled. Kirk simply smiled and left the room.  
  
His wife wrapped her arms around both him and Jake, kissing the boy's forehead and then capturing Billie's mouth for a more serious kind of kiss. "I love you," she murmured when she drew back.  
  
He rubbed his nose against her cheek with a sigh. "And I love you. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."  
  
Adie ran gentle fingers through his hair. "I'm going to make coffee and bring it into the living room, okay? I don't think anyone else is up for dessert either."  
  
He agreed and carried his drowsy son upstairs, getting him ready and getting through all of two verses before Jake was sound asleep. Billie sat for a few minutes longer, arousal still buzzing through him accompanied by a slew of other emotions, contemplating how it was possible to feel basically happy overall and yet so absolutely and completely fucked up at the same time.


	7. Chapter 7

Meanwhile Lars, after having stumbled past bedrooms, a spare room and a cupboard, had found the bathroom and now sat cross-legged on the floor with his back to the door. His hands were clasped together, knuckles pressed against his mouth. They were shaking. Big green eyes stared through everything, seeing nothing but searching for _something_ , before they dropped to see the tremble in his hands. A scowl flickered across his face, and he wrapped his arms tight around his waist to still them. It didn't work.  
  
"Fuck!" he snarled through gritted teeth, almost physically bristling for that moment of speech. Fucking hell, he was almost distraught.  
  
 _There are questions I need answering before I go fucking insane. Why the hell do I even want Billie when he's so different to the guy I was with for so many years, and why am I so stuck with this Adrienne thing?_  
  
He'd thought again and again just how different his ex-lover and his new boyfriend were, but in terms of physicality and basic personality, it was all so obvious. There had to be something deeper to it than simply some change in scenery. A piece of that puzzle had slotted into place on their last night of vacation – _I never in twenty years felt as comfortable being like this with James as I do with you._ And it was true, even in the last few months of it. Lars had always felt like the cuddling, the holding, the entwining of limbs had only been for his benefit, and got the distinct feeling that it made James uncomfortable. That also supported the thought that James had never really been comfortable with his sexuality, but that was speculation for another day. Maybe Lars needed Billie because he could be himself, be at ease with his instincts and not feel like he shouldn't be acting a certain way. And perhaps the reason he'd fallen into the role of dominant partner so easily was because he felt it meant he could have the freedom to choose between machismo and tenderness without feeling self-conscious – and in that the freedom to choose between playing the top or the bottom. The time when he bottomed to Billie seemed like it might be a while off yet, judging by his distressed reaction to his lover's intimate touch on that last night, but with all these thoughts appearing for the first time and swirling around, it seemed a lot more certain that one day it would happen.  
  
 _Wow. Well, that's one question answered, I guess. But if that's all the personal insight I'm gonna get tonight, then I'm fucked._  
  
Needing an outlet, he drew his head forward and banged it back against the door, hard enough to make it rattle. Kirk's surprised voice came from the other side. "Shit, are you okay, man? Did you fall?"  
  
Lars sighed loudly, rubbing the back of his head somewhat ruefully. "No, I'm fine. Never been better."  
  
"Don't fuckin' lie, Lars, and tell me what freaked you out so badly down there." He didn't sound weary or impatient at all. Only worried. Good old Kirk.  
  
"Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I just slapped Billie like a schoolkid while his wife was right across the table, but I can't really be sure."  
  
"You said she was okay with it, though, right?"  
  
 _Well then I guess_ I'm _not,_ Lars said to himself. There was a pause. "It's fucking with my head. This whole night is just fucking with my head." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his throat tighten with something other than nerves, and pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes. His head was in a whirl, he felt sick, and despite the question that had been answered he was still utterly confused. His emotions were just…all over the place.   
  
_WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?  
  
Yeah, James, what the fuck _am _I doing?_  
  
When his voice emerged, it was brittle and uncertain.  
  
"I'm not sure how much longer I can do this."  
  
Despite the door between them, Lars could almost taste Kirk's shock. The silence fell thick and ominous. When the guitarist finally spoke, his voice seemed timid. "What do you mean?"  
  
Lars didn't reply. After a few moments, he swallowed and stood up, pacing around in a circle as words tumbled from him. "I'm stuck, I'm stuck in my head, there's something I'm not seeing, there's something I still don't get that connects all of this up and makes it all flow in my head, there _has_ to be, because if there's not…" he trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence, even in his head. "It has to flow, it has to work, but I'm stuck, I've been stuck this entire fucking time, I need to get over…"  
  
 _Get over…  
  
Oh my God, that's…I need to get over James, I'm still stuck on him – I mean, I still have feelings for him, but they're nowhere near as strong as the feelings I have for Billie anymore. The reason I'm still stuck on him is because of how he left me – he chose his wife over me. And now I'm stuck with fucking insecurities, because…_  
  
He stopped in his tracks, frozen for a moment and eyes wide at these revelations, before whirling around to the door and opening it a little way. From the shock on Kirk's face, he must've looked distraught or raw, or something. He didn't much care. Pressing his temple against the door, he looked at his bandmate with hollow eyes and finished his thought aloud. "Why would Billie ever choose me over Adrienne? He wouldn't. I know he wouldn't." His eyes strayed over Kirk's shoulder to a framed photograph on the wall, one of Green Day at some party. Conveniently, Kirk was stood in such a way that Tré was obscured, leaving him to see the image of Mike and Billie, arms slung around one another, wide grins on their faces.  
  
Lars's expression held a kind of resigned anguish. "And Presidents are temporary."  
  
"Wh…Wait, Pres…? Lars—" Before Kirk could fully sputter his bewilderment, Lars turned and gave the toilet a flush, as if he hadn't just been hiding out, and exited the bathroom. Kirk was left to follow him back down the stairs, back towards the meal. Lars didn't even want the evening to fly by anymore. Judging by his subdued expression and downcast eyes, he'd all but given up.  
  
Hearing some noise in the hallway, Billie rose from Jake's bedside and left his son to dream, gaze catching the flutter of Kirk's white shirt disappearing into the stairwell. A puzzled frown creased his forehead as he followed. Why had Lars bothered coming all the way up here? He must have forgotten about the small bathroom near the front door. Or took one look at it and decided it was too much like pissing inside a tube of lipstick, which was generally Billie's opinion of the vividly painted, vaguely rounded room. He liked the one in his studio a hell of a lot better. Especially with the ever-growing splashes of graffiti.  
  
"One kid asleep and one surgically attached to his Internet. It'd probably be safe to wander naked now," he quietly teased. Kirk turned slightly to flash a smile but it was half-hearted, and his lover didn't show any sign he'd heard anything. Billie's frown deepened. "Lars?"  
  
Still nothing by the time he got to the downstairs hallway and he strode past the guitarist, reaching for the drummer's arm. He didn't know if Kirk was aware of the pet name or not, but it didn't really matter; instinct had him asking, "Uli?" Voice soft and soothing as Lars finally stopped walking. No answer was forthcoming, though, and Billie stepped close, his free hand rising to rest gentle fingertips on a smooth jaw.  
  
Everything seemed to have drained out of his lover, been literally flushed down the toilet. All the bristling attitude, the arrogance, the passion, even the severe case of nerves…gone. It worried him. He flattened his palm against his lover's cheek but green eyes remained downcast. "Hey," he murmured, and when there was still no response Billie leaned in and kissed Lars. Uncaring that Kirk was stood right there, or that Adrienne was down the hall, or that his kids were upstairs and might need an explanation for a serious kind of kiss like this, though he suspected Joey would need rather less of one, precocious pre-adolescent that he was. At the moment, however, it was all irrelevant as he coaxed the older man's lips apart with his tongue, sliding it in to tangle and dance with another, thumb rubbing delicate strokes along a cheekbone.   
  
For a songwriter, Billie found himself too often without the words to adequately express his thoughts and feelings, but he knew how to do it with a kiss and his mouth worked to convey everything in a basic human rhythm. _You're here because I want you here. Because I want you, period.  
  
Because I love you._  
  
Lars's throat tightened again as Billie came close to him, touched him, and when that kiss came the drummer fought against himself to either break away or fall in. It never became a conscious decision, but blank eyes slid closed as he was eased into the caress and began to return it. His hands went to a lithe waist and pulled Billie closer, instinct muting anything else he was feeling. This kiss, or even one of those brief touches that his lover had initiated, was something he'd sorely needed earlier in the night. But as the cliché went, all good things must come to an end, and when this one did, he stayed close but dimly wished it had never come at all. It made him ache.   
  
_I feel like a fucking idiot._  
  
He caught Kirk out of the corner of his eye, stood off to the side, skritching at his arm awkwardly, dark brown eyes turned towards him. The Dane knew a level of his anguish had leaked back into his eyes, that much was unavoidable. Billie's own gaze, bright and worried and right there in front of him, drew vulnerability and honesty from him that he'd never have previously allowed. He cleared his throat, hands raising to smooth at the younger man's shirt lapels.  
  
"This is hard for me. A lot harder than I thought it was gonna be. So just…" There was no end prepared for that sentence. His eyes dropped again, his voice going with them into a soft monotone. "Let's just get this evening done, huh? Don't…" He pulled away, out of Billie's embrace, not meeting his eyes as he turned to go back down the hall. "I can't. Not tonight, okay?"  
  
He felt a hand on his arm, and when he turned to repeat himself, he found Kirk there instead. The guitarist spoke under his breath, a degree of urgency in his tone. Obviously he'd been waiting to say this since Lars had breezed past him out of the bathroom. "Wait a second, you've said it yourself before today, why does it have to be either, or?"  
  
Lars's eyes flicked to Billie and back again, stopping just short of giving Kirk a sharp jab in the ribs at his outburst. He hoped that Billie wouldn't understand exactly what Kirk was referring to. Deciding to give his bandmate an answer, his own voice dropped to a murmur. "It's different, it's so fucking different that I have to laugh that you even made that comparison."  
  
Kirk seemed about to attempt a reply, but it never came. He looked back to Billie, shoulders sinking, and Lars caught the apology in those dark brown eyes as he turned and headed down the hall, shaking his head. _I feel like a fucking idiot for letting myself in this deep._  
  
 _Don't touch me._ The whole phrase had not been spoken, but Billie still heard the edict and he felt jealousy slice through him again when Lars held back on repeating it upon realising that the hand on his arm belonged to his bandmate, not his lover. _Kirk_ was allowed to touch, was allowed to know just what the fuck was going on in the drummer's head – was allowed the understanding that Billie simply lacked. _Either what or what?_  
  
He'd thought that kissing his lover might reconnect them, bring Lars out of whatever shadowed place he'd stuck himself in, and it had worked for a brief moment before the light went back out, leaving them both in deeper darkness. It had been a mistake and it hurt that his natural instinct to comfort could be a source of pain instead.   
  
He opened his mouth to answer Kirk's apologetic look and then closed it, spreading his hands helplessly. Billie was at a total loss as they both followed the morose figure. Watching this lifeless shuffling from someone normally bursting with energy squeezed at his chest so hard that it ached to breathe. He thought back to the night they'd found each other again, to the words exchanged whilst limbs were entangled in a hotel bed that had let him put his heart on the line for this man; that had made him realise he'd already begun to fall and gave him the reassurance he'd needed to keep falling. _You said you didn't want to lose anyone else that meant something to you – that you wouldn't give me up.  
  
Why does it feel like you just did?_  
  
"In here," came Adrienne's voice as Lars passed the living room. The three men entered to find quiet jazz playing in the background and two black thermal carafes plus all the appropriate accessories set up on the coffee table by the leather furniture, the speaker curled into the chair with her own steaming mug.  
  
"Kirk, the smaller jug is just straight coffee for you. I took the liberty of splashing some Irish whiskey into ours." She smiled. "Help yourselves, boys. We're not much for formality here."  
  
Billie stood to the side while the other musicians poured and doctored their coffee, having a bit of a silent conversation with his wife while they couldn't see. He wanted very much to go to her right now, for her touch to soothe him the way he'd tried to do for Lars, but the instant the urge had struck he'd realised something: seeing Billie and Adrienne together had to be a million times harder for his lover than seeing Lars and Kirk's comfort level with each other was for Billie. So he stayed away, answering her voiceless question with a gesture towards Lars whilst tapping his temple and shrugging, telling her that he didn't know what was going on. She nodded, expression turning thoughtful as he started to pour himself a coffee while the other men sat on the large couch.  
  
Once Billie had sunk into the remaining small couch, feeling kinda dwarfed sitting there by himself, Adie offered them all a brilliant smile. "I think we need to get to know each other better, don't you? Kirk, I know you're not drinking but I trust you to play along with us anyway."  
  
She leaned forward the tiniest bit, suckering them in. "Are you gentlemen familiar with a little game called, 'I Never'?"  
  
Lars continued his shoegazing – or rather coffeegazing, as he'd toed off his shoes and tucked his legs underneath himself on the couch, eyes down and observing the slowing spin of his freshly stirred coffee. He hadn't heard of the game, so thought it best to just keep quiet. Kirk, however, was the opposite.  
  
"Ohhh _shit_!" he exclaimed, equal amounts glee and horror in his voice. The thought of a game had evidently brightened him. "Is that the one— Is it where someone says something they've never done, and if someone else, one of the other players, has done it, they take a drink? That's it, right? And it goes around in a circle, each person says something, and…yeah. Oh man. I haven't played that in fucking _years_."  
  
Lars settled back deeper into his seat, finally raising his head and looking at least somewhat involved. Maybe a game would be a good idea, something to lighten the mood – there wasn't much else he could do about it, any of this, after all. Perhaps it was because he'd never played or heard of 'I Never' before, or perhaps it was down to his mood, but the drummer failed to see the implications such a game could have, the dark turns it could take, especially with everything that was going on. Whatever the reason, this time his perceptivity failed him and he merely went along with Kirk's obvious eagerness. It was just a dumb game, after all.  
  
His bandmate raised his index finger to make an important point. "Oh wait, I've gotta say right now – what happens in 'I Never' stays in 'I Never', that's the one rule. Even without the alcohol, I'm still likely to get pretty loose tongued. Just as a warning," he grinned. He glanced at Lars, who returned his look with some perplexity. A 'what exactly are you getting us into here' look.  
  
Kirk sat back, bringing one leg up and resting his ankle on his knee. He dipped his head, free hand raised towards Adrienne in a sort of absurd gallant gesture.  
  
"Ladies first."  
  
Billie had no chance to veto what he thought was a disastrous idea, not after Kirk's enthusiastic response and Lars showing a tiny bit of interest. He did narrow his eyes and give his wife a dirty look, letting her know he thought she was nuts to suggest this. Her serene answering smile dimpled her cheeks and he mentally rolled his eyes and shrugged. Something else he was stuck doing, just like the recent wrist slap. He had to admit to himself that it resembled that incident in more than his being roped into it – that there was a level of interest in the outcome, too, even if he did believe that this had the potential to be a very dangerous game indeed.  
  
Adrienne inclined her head to Kirk, replying to his extravagant gallantry in kind. "Okay then." She flicked a glance at Billie, seeming to ponder her choices, and finally continued, "I never considered quitting the band and going solo."  
  
Automatically following the rules, Billie Joe brought his mug to his mouth and took a sip of the whiskey-laced coffee. He flushed slightly as he realised he was the only one, mouth tightening defensively at the other musicians' open surprise.  
  
"Very briefly. Things had gotten…" he let it trail off. "Getting our shit back together was what produced _American Idiot_ so it ended up being a good thing."  
  
He was annoyed that he'd felt the need to justify himself, but even after a few years that was a sore point; it probably always would be and she knew that. He didn't know what Adie was playing at, starting off with that kind of statement. She clearly had her own agenda in mind and Billie was not privy to it.  
  
Sipping absently at his coffee, he took his turn. "I learned to play by slightly different rules, where you just have to make sure you start with 'I Never'; it can be something you have done, or not, it doesn't matter. So, um, I never thought about playing a full concert totally naked." He gulped down another mouthful and lowered the mug, realising that he could conceivably just keep guzzling it like it was plain coffee and end up fucking looped in no time if he wasn't more careful.   
  
Kirk echoed Billie's gulp, nodding like it was an entirely normal thing. "A couple of times, for different reasons. Sometimes it's just the killer heat under those lights and with all that pyro, like in somewhere like Arizona or Japan in the summer. I get so fuckin' overheated sometimes that I think I'm going crazy from it. Sometimes, though not for a long time now, it's down to drunkenness. And sometimes, y'know, shock value. For the hell of it. You don't have to worry about it so much when you've got an Ibanez hanging in just the right place, though!" He directed a wink at Billie before turning his head to Lars. "What about you? You're all over the place during a show."  
  
Lars shrugged slightly. "By the end of the summer shows I'm in my boxers. It's usually enough. Plus, way back in the mists of time, spandex never left much to the imagination, so there's not much point in the exhibitionist side for me."  
  
He sounded thoughtful. It was misleading, because really, he was trying _not_ to think. Becoming introverted was his defense mechanism – when something was troubling him to this degree, something so very personal, he kept his cards close to his chest. Kirk was trying to bring him back out of his shell, which was ridiculous of him, really – he should know more than most how damn near impossible that was and how much he disliked it. Or maybe the guitarist was simply trying to keep the conversation going, keep it light. Maybe Lars was overthinking it. _Fandens._  
  
As if answering his thoughts, Kirk nodded. "Okay, it's your turn, Uli."  
  
"My turn?" Lars echoed somewhat stupidly. "Oh. Um." He looked down into his mug for inspiration, brow creasing a little, then murmured his statement. "I never…that's bad English, though, right? I've never drunk a whole bottle of Jägermeister in one night." After a pause he took a gulp, as did Kirk, who made a little noise of displeasure at the memory.  
  
The drummer didn't really expect anyone else in the room to drink. In fact, he barely even glanced around to see if they did. His heart really wasn't in it right at that moment, if it wasn't obvious.  
  
Adrienne took a sip of her coffee, grimacing as if it were the liquor in question. Billie's eyebrows raised. "Is that what you were drinking the night you got your stomach pumped?"  
  
"Yeah." She shook her head with a rueful smile. "Really bad idea. I think I was, what, twenty-two? Something like that."  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, yeah we were on the road somewhere, too fucking far from Minnesota for me to strangle your flake of a roommate when I called and all she kept repeating was that you were in the hospital. I finally had to scream at her that I only had enough change for five minutes so could she calm down and tell me what the fuck had happened before I got cut off."  
  
"Jen wasn't the best person in a crisis, no. But she was the only one who never gave me any grief for you being just this side of legal when we met, so you don't get to dis her," Adie admonished with a grin. "The way everyone else went on, you'd think I was twenty years older than you, not three."  
  
Billie huffed out a laugh. "Admit it, you took shameless advantage of my innocence."  
  
"Guilty as charged." Her eyes acquired a naughty sparkle. "Of taking advantage, anyway. Mike had already taken care of your innocence."  
  
His mouth hung open at the way she had casually plopped that information out there, like the others in the room already knew it. Though he did assume Kirk knew that he'd been involved with Mike before, since he seemed to know everything about Lars – right down to coaxing him into speech with his nickname. It had irked Billie to hear the endearment coming from someone else, to see his lover respond to it, but he was trying to ignore that. Clearly it was a more long-standing pet name than he'd realised, and more widespread, too; not something special between the two of them. That was his own misunderstanding and he didn't want to take it out on anyone else.  
  
But as Lars's lethargy continued, something began to burn low in Billie's stomach; an acidic recklessness that told him it didn't matter what he said or did now because the drummer was already lost to him.  
  
"True enough," he confirmed. "That half of it at least. Nicole Carter'd already taken care of the other half."  
  
Billie refilled his mug, sprawling back on the loveseat and slurping a quarter of it down despite the heat, not caring anymore if he got drunk off his ass. What difference could it possibly make?  
  
With each minute that went by, with each little bit of information about Billie's and Adrienne's past that leaked into him, Lars shrunk back further into himself. It didn't matter to him whether he was being oversensitive or melodramatic, the point was it all latched onto him, twisted into him like fish hooks and each affection-laced word was a sharp tug at every one of them. So she wasn't just some girl, she was far more – heaven forbid the cliché – _rock and roll_ than he'd previously given her credit for. Not only that, but it seemed that Mike had had the same longevity with Billie that Lars had had with James, even in that, as Adrienne had so eloquently put it, 'innocence' had been a factor. If Mike had been removed from the picture with seemingly the same ease that James had removed Lars, what the fuck did that say for Lars's prospects?   
  
Lars could see, could sense the love, the deep and inextricable connection between Billie and Adie, it was in their merest of glances. _Why can't I have that? Why can't I have it_ now _?_ It was a ridiculous, childish thought. _She has history with him that I'll probably never have, that I'll certainly never know. I want a better fucking foundation than that damn awards show and two weeks on a fucking island. It's nothing compared to what they have, it's a drop in the ocean, and I'm fucking pissed off that I had the foundation I did work on for so long taken away from me. Now I've got this brand new one and I can't help but get the feeling that I don't even have a fighting fucking chance. I want to work on it, I want this relationship, I just don't want it to be a constant uphill battle. I'm sick of them. I don't fucking_ want _to be temporary…_  
  
Wait, what?  
  
 _No, I don't._  
  
If it seemed like an odd thing for him to be surprised by, Lars had never really acknowledged it, even with his revelations in the bathroom earlier. Even with the silent realisation he'd had while Billie slept on the last night of their vacation – _Oh, I'm starting to fall for him._ Now it was all solidified in his head, despite all the obstacles, he was still falling.  
  
 _Oh, well, doesn't that make all this so much fucking easier?_  
  
While the cogs had been turning in Lars's head, his grip tightening on his mug, he failed to realise that an entire round of the game had passed without him noticing. He guessed that the questions had been tame enough for him to have passed them by without a sip and not be questioned for it, but now it was his turn again. He blinked the glassiness out of his eyes and cleared his throat. "Um. I don't know. Um." He rubbed at his forehead, looking weary for a few moments. He glanced over at Billie, that anguish shimmering just behind his eyes for a few seconds before he clamped down on it and looked away. A little of the vitriol in his thoughts seeped into his voice. "Fuck it, I have never felt this fuckin' awkward and uncomfortable and… _misplaced_ in my life."  
  
A beat for the shock to become palpable, and he rose, scuffing over to the table to top-up his mug with more whiskey than coffee.   
  
The words hit Billie physically, each one striking his midsection until he could hardly breathe. He'd seen the flare of pain in green eyes, but he didn't understand. He did not comprehend where things had gone so horribly, incredibly wrong. It had been awkward right from the start, yes, but they didn't all know each other yet and that much had been expected. For Lars to be tearing himself up over _something_ and turning Billie Joe inside out in the process, there was obviously more to it but he didn't know what. Fuck, he didn't even know where to start looking and in the meantime, he could feel his lover pulling farther and farther away.  
  
What he did know was that the drummer's bald statement applied to more than one man in the room. He swallowed a mouthful of mostly whiskey, voice edged in the squelching softness of rot when he spoke. "I'll drink to that."   
  
Misplaced. Fucking _misplaced_. Because Billie put his family ahead of his rock lifestyle. He'd acquired them around the same time in his life; he'd never had the years of swinging bachelorhood that the Metallica band members had had. Green Day's initial burst of success and Billie's marriage, Adie's pregnancy…they had been simultaneous, all three. This was a family home – he was a family man, as strange as it might seem for a punk rocker, and he'd tried to include his lover in that family. That had been the entire fucking point of this catastrophic evening.   
  
He didn't have the high-class pedigree that Lars did; he didn't come from the same world. He had believed that they could still inhabit the same one now regardless of background or past. Clearly that had been foolish in the extreme because every new thing his lover learnt about him was driving him farther away.  
  
Because as he saw it, what it came down to was that Lars didn't want to know these things. Didn't want to be part of these things – didn't want to be part of Billie, didn't want what he had to offer. Didn't want to know that Billie was completely and irrevocably in love with him.  
  
Didn't want someone who wasn't a fucking thing like James Hetfield.  
  
His jaw clenched with the effort of holding it in. That last night on the island, when they'd made love…no. He realised with a sharp jolt that it couldn't have been what he'd thought it was, not if Lars could simply turn it all off like this and feel so _misplaced_. It couldn't have been the deeply intimate experience for his lover that it had been for himself. Billie had been making love; Lars had obviously been fucking. More gently than usual but Billie had to have imagined the emotional resonance between them. Spun it out of dreams and thin air because he wanted it so badly to be the truth.  
  
He hadn't been in love with Mike for a long, long time – he knew that now – but right then he would have given a great deal for a hug from his best friend and some expression of the still rock solid belief Mike had in him. It wasn't the same coming from Adie; their relationship defined him to a huge degree, but it didn't encompass everything. It didn't reach this half of him, this place in his heart and in his skin where Mike had lived once. The one Lars had occupied in growing stages since the night they first met until he owned it outright. The only problem was, it seemed to be undesirable property to the drummer.  
  
Silently he rose and refilled his mug, the last of the coffee comprising slightly less than half of the liquid reaching almost to the brim. He didn't much care that it wasn't hot anymore mixed like that, curling up at the far end of the loveseat to nurse the drink. Billie could feel his wife's concern but he wouldn't meet her eyes. Or anyone else's. He simply sat there, sipping at coffee-flavoured whiskey, aching as Kirk and Adie took their turns. When it came round to him again, he figured he might as well let fucking everything out. Let Lars know that his decision to withdraw from Billie and Billie's life before he got tainted by it was the right one. The older man always did tease him about being girly, so why not start there?  
  
"I never cross-dressed in full drag, right down to panties and a bra, with full make-up. Just like a girl." He didn't mention that it wasn't really a fetish of his, or offer any explanation at all; he simply let a portion of his drink burn a defiant path down his throat.  
  
Kirk sipped at his coffee, seeming like he was trying to glance all around the room and look at no-one at the same time. "Um, once. Um, it was just a joke," he said quietly, timidly. Lars barely even heard the statement. The game, the _stupid_ fucking game was still going on, even after he'd expressed his total discomfort.  
  
In the mindset he was in, he was likely to fall back on childish tendencies. Being an only child, an only child in a well-off family, things usually went his way. Most of the time he didn't even have to expect them to, they just did. Years down the line, it was only for the fact that he wanted Metallica to succeed so badly, knew they would in his gut, that he didn't even think about throwing a fit when he was staring down at the piece of bologna in his hand, his Loser's Lunch, when they couldn't afford anything more to eat.  
  
But here he had been pushed past the point where he could swallow it, where he could suffer in silence. He was even further out of his comfort zone than he'd been when he came into the Armstrong house however many hours ago, and with every moment that went by, every word that passed either Billie's or Adrienne's lips, his lover seemed determined to twist those fish hooks deeper, to keep pushing him away and ignore his pain, to sabotage the foundation he'd – they'd both – worked on so hard. Lars wanted this to stop. All of it. Now.  
  
Well look at that, it was his turn again.  
  
Kirk peered towards him, speaking in that same careful, quiet voice. "Um, do you want me to take your—"  
  
"No, it's fine. I'm fine. Never been better," Lars interrupted. Kirk gave him an admonishing look and seemed about to say something, to warn him, but he turned away. "I'd actually like to take all my turns now, if that's okay." Not waiting for permission, he continued. "I've never had sex practically onstage," he took a gulp, "I've never spent a reasonably sober night going pretty far sexually with my lead guitarist," he took another gulp; Kirk made a few astonished noises, turning red and not meeting Billie's eyes. "I've never sucked a guy off while one half of my band was asleep a couple of feet away," yet another gulp; Kirk exclaimed something; Lars failed to hear it. He cleared his throat and looked around. "Okay, that's gotta be the sordid, sleazy part out of the way, right? Awesome, now we can get onto the real stuff."  
  
He took a deep breath, let it out, sipped his coffee once more. His eyes stared straight ahead as he spoke.  
  
"I've never felt like I've been thrown in the deep end of a relationship like this without so much as a fucking armband. I never thought a stupid game with doctored coffee would make me feel like I wasn't needed. I never thought that, after everything that was said in that fucking hotel room at that fucking awards show, that the way things ended with my last partner could ever happen again, but I guess I might be naïve." He looked over to Billie. "I never thought that I'd actually have to answer to your drummer like he said, but I'm not letting another of my relationships be ruined right in front of me tonight. I don't want to hurt anybody here, but _I'm_ getting hurt and I'd like that to stop happening."   
  
He stood up and turned to face his lover, barely even aware that Kirk and Adrienne were in the room. "I never, in my romantic relationships, wanted, needed, cared for or fell for any other man but…but him." A long, excruciating pause. Then he raised the mug to his lips and tipped his head back, pouring the rest of his drink down his throat.  
  
He'd probably gone too far, probably said too much, probably would regret it later. But right then he stared down at Billie defiantly, green eyes too bright, then put his empty mug on the coffee table and began tugging on his boots. "I'm done. I'm out of here."  
  
Lars was outside and halfway across the lawn before it registered that people were calling him. He picked out Kirk, he sounded closest. "Chill the fuck out, I'm not taking your fucking car. I'll get a cab or walk or take the fucking BART." A hand settled on his arm, Kirk again. He tore away, sudden fury rising to the surface, and whirled around to glare at him with blazing eyes. " _Don't_ fucking touch me, Hammett, just go back inside and drink your coffee and be so _fucking_ comfortable and at ease with everybody." His gaze flicked over Kirk's shoulder and found Adrienne on the porch. "I can't fucking deal, I'm sorry to ruin the perfect evening you had planned where we all get along great, but I can't fucking deal with all this, especially when I know that…" _I'm just fucking temporary._ Some self-control returned to him before he spilled himself out entirely for everybody to pick apart.  
  
Then his eyes found Billie, and he could find nothing else to say. He stood there, everything in his body feeling tight and strained, like something was waiting to explode from him. He stood there and could not move his feet to go.


	8. Chapter 8

Billie advanced in slow, measured steps, full lips compressed into a thin line that was the only hint of colour in his whitened face, eyes gone storm-dark. He halted mere feet from the drummer and took several deep breaths before speaking, the vague calming influence not changing the rage vibrating in his voice.  
  
"Was that supposed to be a joke? Because it wasn't fucking funny, Lars. I thought you of all people would understand what family means to me; you're so close to your father. I lost mine and my world went with him. But even he knew that my sexuality was divided both ways. I got to have the sex talk a little earlier than most while cuddled up in a hospital room, when I was ten goddamned years old. It left an impression and it gave me permission to be who I am. I've never apologised for that – fuck, I've made a career out of not apologising for it – but somehow you just keep worming right in there and making me feel like that's not good enough. You know, you said it the first time I met you: I'm not him. I'm not him, I'm nothing like him, and I'm tired of feeling like a second-rate substitute for what you can't have."  
  
He had to pause, emotion rising in his throat hard enough to choke as he shoved shaking hands in his pockets so that he didn't get the urge to lash out with his fists, too. "I was upfront with you from the beginning. You can't win a competition with Adrienne because one doesn't fucking exist. You're totally _separate_ in my head and in my life. I'm not leaving my wife for you, and I would never leave you for her. Fuck, the only person you ever would've had to worry about was Mike and even there, you were just a catalyst for us realising that we'd been going through the fucking motions for a long fucking time. I didn't even know he'd left an empty space inside me until I…"  
  
Billie shook his head. Pain was beginning to overtake the anger, raw hurt whipping through him and his even cadences trembled a little as he finished what he had to say, the older man standing silent and still in front of him, unreadable. "I'm sorry that inviting you to get to know my family, to become more fully involved in my life, made you feel _misplaced_ and ruined it all for you. I guess I'm the naïve one, believing that this relationship meant something more than just sex. That I was more to you than a-a plaything or a fucktoy, someone to break because you could. You've made it perfectly clear tonight that I've been deluding myself. At least I know where the lines are now."  
  
Swallowing against the vicious agony trying to claw its way out, he whispered a parting shot, knowing it was stupid, stupid, stupid to admit after all this but unable to hold it in any longer because it was probably the last time he'd see his lover. Billie couldn't keep up this one-sided act, this patient waiting for something that he abruptly understood was never going to come. At least he'd be able to say it once and then work to forget he'd ever felt it at all.  
  
"Wish I'd known where they were before I fell in love with you."  
  
Lars's rigid stance broke at that and Billie panicked, incapable of listening to any more. He murmured a swift apology to Kirk for having gotten caught up in all this and then he fled. Literally, sprinting across the lawn and up into the house, the fleeting warmth of Adie's hand lingering along his back as he locked the basement door behind him and clattered down into the studio, knowing she would understand where he had gone if not entirely what had driven him there.  
  
Two minutes later he had a guitar in his hands, plugged in, recording equipment on; and his fingers bled out the angry, despairing wail that he wouldn't allow from his voice.  
  
And what did Lars do?  
  
He watched Billie disappear, shock rolling over him in huge smothering waves, his voice still lost. Then he sat down, hard, right there at the end of the lawn, in the middle of the dewy grass. His knees drew up so his elbows could rest on them and he sat, glazed eyes staring into the garden before him, totally numb. His breath seemed to leave him far quicker than it came to him, and he didn't know whether that could be called sobbing or just an expulsion of the body-wide tension that he'd felt. He didn't even feel strong enough to stand up, never mind explode.  
  
Quiet footfalls in the grass told the shaken man that his bandmate was approaching. A tiny voice in the back of his head wondered if he looked as small as he felt. Kirk crouched down next to him, voice soft. "Jeez, Lars, you sure know how to end a party."  
  
Lars swallowed against a dry throat, and the guitarist rested a hand at his back, smoothing out the tremors skittering over his body with calming little circles. Finally, he turned his head a little, meeting Kirk's eyes.  
  
"Did he…did he just say that he fell in love with me?"  
  
"Yeah, I think he did."  
  
"…Oh."  
  
Lars was utterly thunderstruck by everything Billie had said, the falsehoods, the truths, all of it. Never did he think that everything could go so completely wrong, that so many wires could get crossed and so many wrong conclusions could be made. About James, about the meaning of this fragile relationship to him, about leaving Adrienne for him, about practically everything.  
  
And Billie was in love with him.  
  
Billie was fucking _in love_ with him.  
  
Even after…  
  
 _Somebody to break because you could._  
  
That, more than anything else Billie had said, ripped a chunk right out of him. _Is that what he really thinks of me?_ He turned to look at Kirk again, bewilderment mixing with the high emotion in his voice. "He said… He thinks that I… I _never_ …"  
  
"I know," Kirk nodded slowly. "But you need to tell _him_ all that. Maybe in complete sentences, though." He looped his arm through Lars's and pulled him up. "C'mon, your ass is probably soaked."  
  
Lars clung onto his bandmate, feeling weaker than a fucking kitten, as he was righted. He opened his mouth to stammer some more, but the words failed him when he raised his eyes to see Adie still stood in the door. They made eye contact, and he didn't balk. Instead, he pulled away from Kirk, suddenly finding new energy, and stumbled up to the porch. "Adrienne!"  
  
He stopped at the steps, not knowing if he was even welcome anymore. Judging by the way her husband's anger shimmered in her eyes, he guessed not. He tried to speak once, twice, words never usually being a problem for him. He glanced back to Kirk, who hadn't moved, standing anxiously at the end of the lawn. He met Adie's eyes again. Billie wasn't there, but he had to tell someone, had to have at least one person in the world understand him and what he was going through, even if his own lover didn't. It was kind of odd that before, he could barely say two words to Adrienne, that it took something like this to get him to open himself up to her.  
  
"He means something to me," Lars began, voice conveying his raw distress even better than his eyes. "He-he means more to me than he knows. I care about him, I care for him, I wanna protect him, I wanna wake up next to him, I wanna be there for him, I…I never saw him as a-a plaything, I never, I didn't want to break him, I don't know when this got so fucked up," he swallowed to curb the stream of words that were pouring steadily faster from him. He pushed his hand through his hair and spoke again, a little less fraught. "I don't see you as a threat or an obstacle or anything like that, I see you as exactly what you fucking are – his wife. I don't see how that could possibly get lost in the equation, and really, I don't think it did, I just think you have a totally different fucking equation to me. I still don't understand how you can do this – I don't know if I admire it or what, but the real point is that I just don't get it. I mean, isn't there even a little bit of jealousy, and let it be known that this is not me talking shit about either of you personally, but isn't there the thought that your husband is off with some guy, that he can't get everything he needs from you, that you're not enough or something?" Lars knew the answer by the look on Adrienne's face, and it made him falter, eyes going dull as he looked down and continued quietly, "Or am I weak for having had that mentality myself?"  
  
He sagged, feeling a painful lump lodge in his throat, and he rubbed roughly at eyes that already felt raw. He felt exhausted, stripped clean and like he just didn't have the strength for this anymore. He slumped down onto the step in front of him, head dropping into his hands.  
  
"I'm scared, okay?" he murmured, just loud enough for Adrienne to hear, words trembling just barely as they left him. "I don't want to lose him, I don't want to be weak, but I'm fucking scared because the one relationship in my life that I thought would last forever ended because James chose his wife over me. It completely changed what I believed and I'm scared that it might happen again. I don't want to be temporary, I don't want to be just filling a spot for now. Billie is the only guy other than James that I've felt anything this strong for, and God help me, I think I do love him, at least a little bit. But Presidents are temporary."  
  
Fuck, there they were. Words that had quietly niggled at the back of his head for longer than he knew, from before they had any kind of formation. _I think I do love him._ Perhaps it took Billie saying something akin to that to make his mind form them. But whatever the reason for their appearance, it didn't matter now. He'd fucked up, they'd both fucked up big time and he wasn't sure if there was any coming back from it.  
  
 _Please, somebody tell me there's something I can do to fix this._  
  
Adrienne remained silent for several long moments and then she sighed, a weary amusement tingeing the sound. "Whoever said that gay couples should be better at communicating because they think the same way clearly had his head up his fucking ass. Come on." She closed a small hand around Lars's upper arm, tugging him to his feet, and beckoned to Kirk. Inside the kitchen, she pulled a small key from a jumbled drawer, and turned to face the drummer, dark eyes grave.  
  
"One person can't be made into someone's whole world, Lars, and it took three years of long-distance romancing before I committed myself to a relationship that would test that belief constantly. Another year passed before Billie convinced me to move to California and get married. I got to wade in from the shallow end and you're right, you got thrown right in over your head. But you need to learn to swim right fucking now, or you need to leave."  
  
She took a deep breath, rubbing her temple as if a headache had begun, and nodded very slightly. It seemed to be to herself.  
  
"You haven't spent much time around the three of them, have you?" At his headshake, she continued, "If you had, you'd've noticed that Billie is the leader, whether it's the whole band or just two of them together. Invariably." She emphasised the last part, the context of the discussion giving it a weight beyond the simplicity of the statement.  
  
"Ah, the ego of the frontman." Kirk winked. It broke the sombre mood a little and Adie laughed. Her focus returned an instant later, calm gaze meeting wide green eyes, her words striking with blunt force.  
  
"You're afraid of being temporary. I asked Billie to invite you here tonight because you're not. Because I needed to know the person who held the other half of him, at least a little bit." She held out the key. "He'll be down in the studio. Be careful on the stairs; it'll be pretty dark and he'll probably be playing way too loudly to hear you."  
  
Adrienne took Kirk's arm and they headed for the living room, leaving Lars to make up his mind.  
  
Totally unaware of his wife's complicity, Billie played back the bits he'd recorded, zeroing in on a section that had a sweet rhythm to it. He listened to it a few times, fingers moving soundlessly on the strings in an unconscious effort to match up. Once it stuck with him, he started up again, the electric screech funneling everything even as he fumbled through the first attempt to recapture the sound, fingering becoming surer with each run until it felt _right_ , ringing through him with the unmistakable resonance of song.  
  
"Words, I need…where the fuck did I leave the paper?" he muttered, slinging the guitar around onto his back so he could rummage through the desk in the corner until he withdrew a pad of paper. He grabbed a pen and shoved a stool over near the equipment he was using, about to sit down when a glint of green caught his attention and he looked up at the stairs. There, concealed in the shadows, was Lars.  
  
Billie's lips curled in an expression too full of cynicism and contempt to be called a smile. "So much for her no-interference policy. Oh, well, everybody makes mistakes." His stomach quivered when the older man didn't move, and that only made him angrier. Hazel eyes spat fire to cover up the way his insides threatened to spill all over the floor. He'd been dealing with this, goddamn it. Couldn't Lars just leave him the fuck alone until it didn't feel like every inch of him had been scraped raw?  
  
"You here for a reason, drummer boy? Because in case you hadn't noticed, I'm kinda busy so you can fuck off any time now."  
  
Lars's hand tightened on the handrail, spark of anger going off just behind his eyes.  
  
He'd stood for a long fucking few minutes with that key in his hand. Kirk, his safety net, his safety _blanket_ , had been taken away from him, and now it was up to him to make a decision that didn't suck all by himself. Doesn't sound that difficult, especially when you're the business guy of your band, but seeing as Lars had been here for a good few hours now, it felt like he'd made one bad decision after another under this roof. While he didn't quite know if it was the right thing to do yet, go down there and invade Billie's personal space when he'd made it abundantly clear that the drummer was no longer welcome, it was what his instinct and his heart were telling him to do.  
  
So there he was, a couple of steps down those stairs, hands shaking just a little bit more than he'd have liked, and Billie had just slung another barb at him. Despite the fact that he was feeling pretty raw and vulnerable, he was still Lars Ulrich, and Lars Ulrich did not take kindly to this kind of attitude unless it was coming from himself. Somewhat admirably, he managed to rein his own wayward tongue for a little while, having realised that along with the hurt and regret and angst all boiling together in his gut, there was also anger. Anger that he could ever be so misunderstood by his lover.  
  
By the person that he loved, and the person who apparently loved him.  
  
Billie repeated the last few words of his last remark, volume a little higher, voice a little too strained. Before the taunt had fully left him, Lars spoke.  
  
"You'e an _idiot_ ," he spat. "And I'm an idiot. We're both idiots, is what I'm trying to get across here." He looked down for a moment as he began descending the stairs, then brought his gaze right back up, glittering green colliding with darkened hazel. "You think that I would want to break you, that this whole thing was nothing to me? This was all a game, even after everything that went on on that island, after that last night? You really fucking think that that's the kind of person I am? How dare you." He reached the bottom of the stairs and remained there. It all seemed to be flowing out of him of its own accord, and he was damned if he was going to be able to stop it. "I came here to this fucking evening for _you_ , not because I wanted to. I did it because you wanted me to, because I thought you wanted me in your life, because I care about you. And do you even know why I was going to bail? I was going to bail because I couldn't handle it, and I couldn't handle it because I was _scared_. Scared because I don't fucking know what to do in this situation, I feel like I've got the biggest uphill battle ahead of me, and scared that what James did to me was going to happen all over again."  
  
He paused to swallow and take a breath or two – fuck, this kind of honesty was exhausting – and when he spoke again, quieter but no less taut, his gaze remained unflinching.  
  
"What I feel for James is a drop in the fucking ocean compared to what I feel for you."  
  
"No, I don't—I didn't, until tonight, I…" Billie stumbled backwards into the stool and sat down hard, belligerence draining out of him. He couldn't process the last part – _ocean?_ – just yet; it felt too hopeful, had too many expectations attached. But he could try to explain his own feelings. No, he needed to explain them, because dimly he was aware that this was it. Either they figured their shit out right now, or Lars walked and they really were through.   
  
"I did invite you here for exactly those reasons. And then once you were here, you kept flinching away from me. Every time I shared something else, trying to include you, you just withdrew more. You didn't want me to touch you, you didn't want me near you, but it was okay if _Kirk_ was all over you. Kirk was allowed to know what you were thinking, how you were feeling. Allowed to hold you, even, but when _I_ kissed you – me, the guy you're actually fucking – you told me to stay away. Like me and my life might contaminate you."  
  
He shifted and the guitar banged against his back. Impatiently he lifted the shoulder strap off his body and laid the instrument down. "It coloured things, especially after you…after you slapped me."   
  
Billie stared at the floor, images of white-hot sensation flashing in his head. "You really embarrassed me, because I-I liked it, and I don't…I still feel, weird, about what happened in the jacuzzi. There was a whole pile of stuff shoved into a corner in my head to deal with later that I haven't yet and it all tumbled out. And that night, when we," he faltered, unable to say it. "On the veranda. I felt it then – felt _you_ , but I thought, with everything since then, I thought maybe I'd imagined it, because I wanted it so fucking much."  
  
He pushed a hand through his hair, exhausted and raw and more vulnerable than he'd ever been. "I've tried to give you emotional space, like you asked. I didn't want to freak you out or fuck you up by letting you know my feelings before you were ready to hear them. But I keep brushing up against ghosts of James and wondering when you're going to find someone like that, someone who fits your idea of what a man should be, and leave. Someone who doesn't straddle the gender line quite so much. I never thought you were totally unfeeling or anything, but I don't know why you would be with me other than sex, and when you pushed away every other part of me tonight it just…"  
  
Billie folded his hands in his lap, looking almost prim except it was simply the best way he could think of to disguise how they shook. He focused on a speck of lint on his pants, head bowed as he finished speaking. "Knowing how you feel – or how you felt – about James, and being so fucking different from that makes it hard to understand, Lars. It makes me feel inadequate in comparison, and it scares the hell out of me because I don't know how much or how little to express to you; I'm second-guessing myself constantly to make sure I don't spook you by holding on too hard because I do that. I hold on to the people I love. That's why it took me so fucking long to figure things out with Mike, because I still love him, I just love him the same way I did when I was ten, before sex complicated things. We still spend most Saturday mornings drinking coffee and shooting the shit, hanging out. I fell in love with Adrienne the first time that I saw her and I was barely eighteen then. I don't—" He sighed, unwittingly echoing his lover's words. "I don't do temporary very well, and yet I can't see what else it could be. That last night on the island made me think that maybe it was safe to get closer now, and that led to this whole fiasco. Obviously I was wrong and I…I don't know what to do now. How to feel."  
  
He hadn't said it, and he didn't truly think the drummer was that callous, but Billie Joe felt broken all the same and it showed in the lines of his body, slumped in defeat on the stool. Whatever came next, he'd been as honest as he knew how to be. But with everything he'd confessed – even with Lars's admission that his feelings for Billie were much stronger than those he had for James now – came the vague expectation that he was going to be kicked while he was down, and he didn't think he could take any more tonight. Fighting the urge to wrap his arms around himself or curl up in a ball on the floor, he whispered, "All I know is that I love you."   
  
Billie's words served like a punch to Lars's chest. The drummer had kept his eyes on Billie the entire time, save for the talk of that slap – both their gazes had found the floor, and it seemed that the embarrassment was mutual – and now, as his lover sat there, small and slumped, those hushed words hanging in the air, Lars wanted so badly to go to him. To go and hold him and kiss all this away. _Fuck, I'm pretty sure I might love you too, Billie._ The desire was almost as strong as the power of Billie's words, but he resisted it. He couldn't do it, not yet, not when a lot of things still needed to be said. So instead he sat down on the floor crosslegged, rubbing his forehead, green eyes too bright. He pointed to the floor beneath him.  
  
"This is _your_ world, Billie. This is a world you've had for over ten years, so the fact that you're comfortable in it and with everything that goes with it doesn't surprise me at all. But that doesn't mean _everybody_ is. It doesn't mean that the second people step over the threshold it's like a eureka moment. I see that you're trying to introduce me into your world, and that's good, that's okay. But I'd really like you to understand and respect the fact that I am not comfortable with this level of involvement, not yet, because it just doesn't seem like you do. I mean, maybe if we'd all met on neutral ground, at a restaurant or a bar or something, maybe that would have been better. But here everywhere I look there's reminders of your life so far, the life that I only have the barest idea of, and when I've been so used to having a basic understanding of everything my partner is and does, this is…I see Mike and I can't help but wonder if I'm on borrowed time. I was there first with James, I was with him a long time before his wife Francesca was in the picture, so I was safe." He gave a humourless snort. "At least I thought I was. But here, I'm the new guy, and it's incredibly fucking hard for me to get into this relationship when there's one that's already so well established, that I can _feel_ never mind see. I just don't know if I can ever attain that kind of level with you and really feel safe, but I want to, I really do. I wish I had been the first one there, y'know, if I'd have known what I know now I might've gone looking for you back in '89, '90, because then maybe…"  
  
He trailed off, not really knowing how to end his sentence. He decided to backtrack to what Billie had said about Kirk. It was certainly safer grounds for discussion than the ones they were on now.  
  
"Let me tell you some things about my bandmates. Kirk is…Kirk is a lot of things to me. I brought him here tonight because he's one of my best friends and he's kind of a security blanket for me. If he were in this relationship instead of me, he'd be where you are, whereas I'm about ten miles behind. He's got this combination of eccentricity and mellowness and acceptance that just makes him comfortable in basically any situation. Here, he's my safety, I needed him here tonight to keep me from losing my shit, to be my damage control. And what I said up there about him and me, it's true, we've fooled around over the years. It was more about mutual experimentation than anything. See, he could come down here now and straddle your lap and make out with you right in front of me, and I guarantee you I would not feel one bit of jealousy. Because Kirk is Kirk, and I wouldn't want him any different. He's…I don't know all the dynamics of your relationship, but I'd guess that Kirk is to me how Tré is to you.  
  
"James is so far removed from how Kirk is, it's actually kind of funny that they could be in a band together. James is big and tough and a _man_ , y'know, sweats testosterone and bleeds gasoline. Drinking and partying and hunting and getting into bar fights and fucking groupies, he was strong and wild and he demanded respect, and I watched him grow into that. I think I fell in love with him because of that and because he was such an enigma. I never knew much about his past, and it fascinated me. It was during one of those nights way back when he basically told me that our relationship was a secret, and it may surprise you that I kept my mouth shut. Not only that, but I kept my hands to myself almost everywhere we went, because I knew he wasn't comfortable with that element of a gay relationship. I mean, contrary to what you may have quietly assumed, _Nothing Else Matters_ was not written with me in mind. Aside from those last months, there was no real cuddling, there was no spooning or any of that shit – there was kissing and fucking, and that was okay, because I loved him. He loved me. But you know what? It wasn't okay, because I needed it, I needed that closeness, and I've thought since he ended it that maybe the reason he wasn't comfortable with all of that was because he wasn't comfortable with himself, the relationship in general and-and me." _Whoops, stumbled a little there. Keep it together._ Lars's voice grew soft, and he nodded somewhat ruefully, looking down at his hands. "And that hurts. That hurts a fuck of a lot."  
  
Lars didn't know anymore if the alcohol had loosened his tongue or if all this had been screaming to get out all along. All he knew was that he wasn't going to be leaving tonight without a little exhibit being left in Billie's studio labelled, 'Lars Ulrich's heart, poured out here, May 2006'.  
  
"Thanks to James, this," he tapped at his temple, "is a head that's been conditioned to be stand-offish, to _not_ touch or hold or be close to. Back at the very beginning of my relationship with him, I wanted to be how you are with your need for closeness, that's who I was. That side of me got buried for twenty years. Then there was you. You've basically come into my life and re-written the script. On that last day of our vacation, on that veranda, I said something to you while you were asleep. I said that I was more comfortable being like that – and by that I meant being myself – with you than I ever was with James.  
  
"I tried to not get in too deep with you because you might _not_ ever love me. But there's a big difference between trying and actually doing, because now I—" His words stalled. "I'm not with you just for the sex, I don't want another man like James. I want the things James gave me and the things he didn't, and that's why I'm with you. Because I think you're the only person who can do all that."  
  
Temporarily spent, Lars heaved a deep sigh, head dropping to press the heels of his palms over his eyes. He gave a very audible sniff and fell silent.  
  
As his lover talked, a memory rose in Billie's mind of lying boneless and breathless in the sand with soft kisses pressed to his closed eyes, and another to his hand with the admonition not to tell anyone. He remembered that it had seemed like a kneejerk reaction and that he'd ignored it. When had that understanding been lost? He _knew_ Lars wasn't comfortable with public displays.  
  
Even as he thought that, he realised: this was his home. This was as private as it got for Billie – but not for Lars. For Lars, this was unknown territory that had already been claimed, and Billie hadn't seen it for the very reason the drummer had pointed out. He was used to it, had had a long time to grow accustomed to it, for an unusual situation to feel utterly normal. So when Lars had pulled away in what Billie considered total privacy, all of his insecurities had rocketed to the surface, even the ones he'd believed dead and buried back in high school. Which was about the same time as he'd fallen for his wife and his relationship with his best friend had shifted into something more. He was out of practice at new beginnings with new people. Fuck, they both were.  
  
He let out a long groan. "Dude, you're right. We're both fucking idiots. We've been trying to do this like we've known each other for years and we haven't, you know, it hasn't even been one year yet, so maybe we need to pay a little more attention to that. Take certain things a little slower. It's been a long damn time since I got into a new relationship and I've been trying not to push, like I said, but I don't know, it seems like I was trying with the wrong things."  
  
His eyes finally met the drummer's. "A restaurant or something probably would have been better, yeah. But I didn't know how freaked you were, Lars. You didn't really say anything and you didn't suggest we go somewhere else. I do respect that it's difficult but I need to _know_ that you're that uncomfortable because I can't always tell with you. When you close off, I lose any ability to read what might be going on in your head and that's part of this being pretty new still. I expected tonight to be awkward and uncomfortable, yes – like meeting your in-laws or something, people who are closely connected to your partner but not directly involved in your relationship. I expected everyone to be nervous. But I had no idea that it scared you like that. I can't try to understand something I don't even know about." _What I didn't expect was to end up doubting myself more than I have since I picked up a guitar, or to feel so fucking worthless._  
  
That last part remained in his head, because it didn't belong out in the open air. They'd ripped into each other so much tonight and all because things had been taken so far out of context that it boggled the mind. What Billie had already said on that particular subject was enough for now.  
  
He thought of Lars's words about trying not to get in too deep in case Billie couldn't love him and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the absolute irony. His lover didn't realise how deep things went with him or how long he'd felt that way – how could he, when Billie had been so careful to conceal it? He hadn't planned on sharing this secret with Lars anytime soon, or possibly at all, but it felt like he needed to say it and more, like he needed it to be heard.  
  
"D'you remember when Tré barged into the room the morning after the awards show, and got me to admit that I'd fallen for you?" At the wary nod, Billie's smile emerged and his voice softened when he continued, "I told you that I'd started to care about you before then, and I did. Somewhere around the time that you pulled me in close and threatened to kill me if I told anyone, I fell in love." He laughed a little at the absurdity of that. "You were so focussed on James, though, and when you left I just buried it as best I could and I went back to Mike. I'm glad I did, because what we rebuilt then means that I still have my best friend now – fuck, it means I still have my _band_ – but I think maybe you need to know that I've been in love with you for three and a half years already."  
  
He looked away, not quite prepared for whatever he might see in green eyes. "Speaking of things starting earlier, you do realise that if you'd come for me in '89 I'd've been jailbait, right?" Billie had to grin briefly at the idea. Then he steeled himself, straightening on the stool, and looked directly at Lars.  
  
"I would…I'd really like to kiss you right now, but I…" He skritched the back of his head with a sigh. "I understand that things got incredibly fucking twisted in my head, and that you weren't trying to hurt me, but I feel…fragile, still, I guess. I want to touch you but I need you to come to me, Uli. I need you to come to me this time."  
  
 _Three and a half years._  
  
Obviously the surprise registered strongly on Lars's face.  
  
 _A death threat made you fall in love with me?_  
  
The drummer realised immediately that no, that would be fucking ridiculous. It was the action that it accompanied that must've done it. Something that he would never have attempted and certainly never been given with James. Something that his younger self would have craved badly. _Guess that might be why I feel like such a teenager when I'm around Billie._  
  
That was quite the lightbulb going off over Lars's head, and it gave him hope, it gave him certainty, things he definitely needed after the last hour or so.  
  
"I tend to get incredibly introverted when I've got some serious personal issues going on, I don't talk about them as much as I've been told I should." He rolled his eyes. "Other than just now, obviously. That's how I'm defensive and how, y'know, I keep myself protected until I've figured things out or it's blown over or whatever. But I've been a lot more honest and direct with you tonight than I would ever have been with anyone else, and I think that says something. It's like the spirit of Phil Towle's in the room."  
  
He gave a little smirk at that, then pulled himself up and smoothed out his shirt. His hands weren't shaking so much anymore, thank fuck, but there was still some trepidation in him as he raised his eyes to meet Billie's. For a few moments, he did nothing but look at his lover, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, undeniably deep affection clear in his gaze. Then he spoke. "Billie, I'm going to say something, I'm going to say it as clearly as I know how, and then I'm going to kiss you, and when I'm done I want you to have understood and acknowledge what I said. I need that, okay?"  
  
At the curious gaze and slight nod, Lars crossed the gap between them, stopping when his thighs grazed Billie's knees. He raised a hand and brushed his fingers through the shock of black hair, over and over in a soothing rhythm as he said what he had to say, calmly and seriously.  
  
"I don't want James. Why would I want a man who so spectacularly fuckin' dumped me just because he couldn't accept—" He halted himself and closed his eyes for a moment. _No, we're not going down that road now._ He started again. "I _don't_ want James. I want you, I need you and _I am not giving you up_."  
  
Then that hand slid to cup Billie's face, he tilted his head and he pressed his lips to his lover's in a searingly gentle kiss.  
  
Billie opened to him instinctively, leaning into the kiss, his knees parting to give Lars room to move closer. This was the tenderness he'd thought he might have imagined – that he hadn't known he wanted from the drummer until that last night when they'd made love. It nearly overwhelmed him to feel it now, as vulnerable as he was, and to _see_ it in the burning sincerity of his lover's expressive eyes brought an entirely different kind of ache to his chest, as though he couldn't hold all the emotion anymore. It spilled through him and beyond as he rested his hands on Lars's waist, fingers stroking lightly in counterpart to the rhythm of their mouths.  
  
Finally he withdrew and looked up at Lars, floored at the softness still mirrored there, and he licked his lips before honouring the request in a voice that trembled only slightly. "What I get is that the past is the past. Whatever happened before might, you know, affect us because past experiences always do," he paused, thinking of that distressed cry to stop, and knew by the uneasy flicker in the steady gaze that he wasn't the only one. "But who we are now, and who we're _with_ now, is who we want it to be. And we're not…this isn't some fling. Neither of us wants anyone else, and we're both in it for the long haul. How'm I doing? Clear?"  
  
At the drummer's deliberate nod, a dazzling smile lit Billie's face. "Good, that's…it's good to know that." He tilted his chin up, seeking another kiss as he rose from the stool and fitted his body to his lover's, lips meeting and parting to taste, greedy for the touch he'd come so close to losing. The same hunger guided hands to slip over the contours of the body pressed against him, relearning the texture of fabric, skin, muscles, tongue, teeth as though they were all brand new. _Mine,_ his fingers whispered; _Yours,_ his mouth offered wordlessly.  
  
When Billie spoke next he sounded breathless, and the question was one he both did and didn't want the answer for, but thought he needed to ask – needed to know. "Um, I know it started kinda as a joke and then kinda snowballed, but why did you slap my wrist? What was that about for you? I know that it freaked me a little besides the whole blushing thing for a few reasons, but I-I'd like to know from your side."  
  
Lars winced for a nanosecond and looked away, looking uncomfortable. His hands remained where they had automatically settled, though, at hips that pressed into his, thumbs rubbing just above the waistband of Billie's pants, addictive warmth felt through the material of his shirt. "Um, that, um," he faltered, heat rising in his cheeks. "I-I don't know where that came from, to be honest. I think I must've tweaked out for a minute from all the nerves and pressure, because…you know, I'm not really, um, into that so much, at least I didn't think I was, but…it was just intended as a playful thing and it went into a different place for both of us, and…um." He cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed his small babble. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that whole incident, it holding too many links with the embarrassment and even guilt of exactly where it happened and who it had happened in front of. He knew in his heart that it was going to be a long time before he felt truly comfortable with being so open with their relationship in front of Adrienne. He finally brought his eyes back to Billie's. "Um, I'm just gonna kiss you again and pretend that I didn't just stammer and stumble and get all silly over that, okay?"  
  
He silenced the small giggle that greeted him with the intended kiss, arms sliding to wrap around a slim waist, small smile curving his lips as they pressed and moved, slow and languid against another pair. It felt indescribably good to have this, to do something as simple as kiss his lover like he was the only thing that mattered, and not have it be coloured by doubt or guilt or fear. It felt good to have that taste on his tongue again.  
  
His mouth grazed a smooth cheek as he moved in even closer to nuzzle into the curve of Billie's neck, arms raising to loop rounded shoulders. "Fuck," he breathed into Californian skin, eyes slipping closed. It was a relieved sounding profanity. His insides felt loose, all the tension and anger having bled out of him and leaving him calmed, happy and drained. He wouldn't exactly use the word giddy to ever describe himself, but he surmised that it was pretty close to his overall state of mind. And there was that lingering warmth in his chest, accompanied by the occasional flutter, that told him for certain that Billie wasn't the only one in love. At that, he smiled softly.  
  
After a few moments, though, he frowned, murmuring half to himself. "Wait, you couldn't have been jailbait in '89, because I—" He squinted, then suddenly raised his head, looking stricken. "Fuck, I was twenty-five and you were _jailbait_?!"  
  
Billie burst out laughing. "Hell yes, I was seventeen in '89. If it helps any, I also dropped out of school, moved out on my own and was working at anything I could find to scrape together enough cash to finish recording our first full-length record and get it pressed. So I wasn't a kid but I was definitely under-aged." He smirked and ran his tongue along the drummer's jawline. "Why, you feeling like a cradle-robber now?"  
  
The dismay in Lars's expression confirmed that and delighted Billie. He couldn't resist teasing. "So I guess taking me away on vacation the way you did, that would make you my sugar daddy, huh? When do I get something with diamonds?" He considered pushing a bit farther with it but giggled instead at the ridiculousness. "Oh, man, the look on your face. I'd freak you out more and call you 'Daddy' but that's a little out there even if the idea of corporal punishment did get me hot."  
  
His gaze skittered away suddenly, not having meant to say that. But it had followed naturally and since it had been spoken, maybe he should make something else clear that he never had. "Um. Mike wasn't totally comfortable with his sexuality, either. Mostly yes, but not…I think he had this thing where if everything was as standard as possible, then it balanced out that it was actually gay sex, you know. I'm pretty sure he's been more adventurous with the women in his life. And we, well, because of that and because, you know, I like the way it feels, I was sort of the bottom by default. He'll say – I mean now that things are okay between us as friends, sometimes at band practice or whatever he'll tease me that at least his bedroom is one place where I'm not ordering him around anymore."  
  
Billie's eyes returned to his lover, green warmth blanketing him. His lips curved in a hint of a smile and he gave an awkward shrug. "We had an open relationship for a long time and there were other guys, but even when I bottomed I didn't, like, _bottom_ , you know? Not until that first night with you. And that night I know I was kinda looking for punishment because of everything that was going on, but when I saw you again at the awards show it was like something in my head opened this door and fucking kicked me through it." He remained quiet for a moment, simply holding his boyfriend before shrugging again.  
  
"I don't know if you'd figured any of that out or what, but I thought maybe it'd help explain why I get weird sometimes, you know, and how things might've gone off-track tonight. I've always had all these, I don't know, ideas and fantasies and shit, and never really did much with them outside my head." A laugh sputtered out. "Except now I've done some of them and they just sort of happened. Anyway, I thought maybe I should tell you that 'cause I'll probably, you know, freak myself out again sometime."  
  
His smile deepened at Lars's clear surprise; apparently Billie wasn't as much of an open book as he'd considered himself to be.  
  
Lars had hoped that he'd kept well hidden how quietly mortified he was at the term 'sugar daddy'. Sure, he was okay with, even still looking foward to, getting older and all the challenges it would bring. But having a fucking…dare he even think it, _toyboy_ for a partner didn't exactly fill him with the joys of age.  
  
His tongue swiped over his top lip as he thought about what Billie had said, gaze dropping to the base of the younger man's throat, slight frown creasing his brow. "We should try some other things," he murmured absently. After a pause, he raised his head and clarified. There was some trepidation in both his eyes and his words. "I mean, we should set out to try different things. I don't know if I'm into much of that, into any really kinky shit, but," he paused again to consider his words. "I guess it's got a lot to do with the fact that I'm the dominant partner, and I've never had that before, not with another man. This is the first time I've been the dominant, and it's fucking with my head a little, because though I would never actually have called myself a submissive, I let James take the reins of our relationship purely because of his comfort level. So, like with you and Mike, nothing really out there ever happened. I never really wondered what I was missing out on, so I guess I assumed that I wasn't into any of it. But with you, I'd like to at least try." He gave a rueful little laugh. "It kind of says something for our relationship when the only opportunity I had and the only times I got involved in some of the more left-of-center shit was with K—"  
  
He cut himself off abruptly, colour appearing in his cheeks. _Whoops._ An embarrassed little smile appeared on his face. "Um, yeah. Um. Never mind."  
  
Partially in the hopes of drawing Billie's attention away from his little slip up, he continued. "What happened in the jacuzzi, um, the control aspect and the giving over and trust…I think that might be a good place to start. I'd…I think I'd like to explore it a little more, too."  
  
The drummer decided to address something closer to his own heart, solemnity returning to his face, voice going quiet and lashes veiling his gaze. "One day I _am_ going to-to bottom for you, Billie. I don't want something that big and important in my sexual life to be forever associated with him. So just know that one day I'm going to be ready and…"  
  
Having no ending prepared for that sentence, Lars dipped his head again and nuzzled at Billie's jaw, knowing it for the submissive gesture it was intended to be. He placed a wet kiss at his lover's pulse point and settled there, nose tucked under his chin, a soft, contented sigh passing his lips.  
  
Billie's lips ghosted over a temple exposed by a slightly receding hairline and he smiled, no longer caring that Lars had done some exploring with Kirk. It wasn't relevant anymore. They both had pasts – grown men who were fathers and rock stars both, how could they not? – but he'd meant what he said about only looking forward.  
  
"I didn't really think about whether I might be missing out on anything either until after that night with you. That's when I started to recognise that yeah, there _was_ something missing. It took seeing you again, touching you, to figure out what." He dropped another kiss on his lover's temple and began to tug him over to a darkened corner of the room, sinking down onto the small couch with one foot on the floor and his other leg stretched across the pillowed back and pulling Lars down with him, settling the drummer in between. It felt a bit strange to have the older man cuddled up to him instead of vice versa but it was nice, and it also felt natural.  
  
Absently he stroked lengthening brown hair, not thinking about it or anything else for the moment, simply enjoying the closeness. Eventually he spoke, voice quiet and grave. "I love you. Not daring to express that for fear that you weren't ready to know it, that it would drive you away…that's what was really fucking me up. I'm not much of a secret-keeper amongst people I care about and it got difficult to hear anything else through that. Yeah, there's some shit going on upstairs about me developing this urge to like drop to my knees for you, but in the end that's more about sex and I trust you.  
  
"I'm not going to throw the words at you all the time but it means a lot to have the freedom to say them. I'm mostly more physically demonstrative anyway, in case you somehow managed to miss that." Billie laughed softly. "I actually wasn't kidding at the awards show afterparty that I'd kissed a couple hundred people before you assaulted me. Joey calls me the King of Touchy-Feely. Or at least he did when he was still talking to me." He groaned and skated his mouth across his lover's forehead.  
  
"I'm not that much younger than you, Lars: my kids are older than yours. You'll be able to watch me royally fuck up parenting a teenager in lots of time to learn what not to do when Myles reaches that age."  
  
He shifted, tilting Lars's chin up and leaning in to kiss him, lips meeting with a sweet delicacy. "We need to go back upstairs in a minute, let them know we didn't kill each other or break up. Do you want to leave? It's totally fine if you do; it's getting pretty late. The four of us can meet up for drinks somewhere next month or something, or after that, whatever. We don't need to rush through anything because we're both still going to be here." Another featherlight kiss, tongue tracing wetly along the fullness of the drummer's mouth almost in slow motion, as if to underscore his point.  
  
Lars gave a wide smile before resting his head back on Billie's shoulder, eyelids feeling heavy. "I wouldn't really mind jus' takin' a nap, I'm fuckin' exhausted," he mumbled into his lover's collarbone. His arm draped over a slim waist and his hand tucked underneath, pulling himself closer, fitting the contours of his body with the one beneath him. "I don't think I should go yet. I didn't really leave it so good up there, and me and Kirk aren't in HQ tomorrow until one, so I'd like to stay for a bit longer. Maybe another coffee. But no more of that damn game."  
  
It leaked into his mind that he'd already confessed his love for Billie to his wife – shit, a sentence like that _still_ sounded fucked up – and he wondered what exactly she would say about it, if anything. Lars was prepared to keep that particular piece of information to himself for now, he'd been honest enough for one day. He was more than prepared to wait until the moment was right. He mused to himself that perhaps, knowing what he did of Adrienne's personality, she might enjoy having a little secret like that.  
  
After a few moments of stillness, save for the soothing rhythm of their almost synchronised breathing, the drummer turned his head to regard the hand resting on his arm. He took it in his own, thumb rubbing over the wedding band, and remained silent for a while. Eyes still on the ring, he frowned slightly.  
  
"I never felt possessive with James," he murmured thoughtfully, sounding as if it was to himself. Then he turned back, pulled himself up a little higher until he was level with Billie and dipped his head to the younger man's neck. He began with slow, wet kisses, mouth working lazily across skin, before settling just below the pulse point and sucking hard on the flesh. A soft gasp reached his ears at that, and he would've smiled had his lips not been otherwise engaged. When he pulled away, he licked his lips and admired the reddened patch, soon to darken into a bruise. He was well aware of how highschool the act was, and how no self-respecting forty-two year old – or thirty-four year old, for that matter – should be involving himself in it. Not that he cared. His gaze moved to Billie's face, and he smirked. "That'll do for now."  
  
He leaned in for another soft kiss, two, three, four, one after the other, before speaking again, amusement lacing his tone. "So if I _had_ deviated from the _Damaged Justice_ tour and dropped onto your doorstep back in '89, what do you think you would've done? Bearing in mind, of course, that anything I would've been sorely tempted to do to you would've been illegal and naughty and _wrong_."  
  
Billie laughed, a low, husky sound. He could feel a dull tingling where his lover's mouth had been and knew from experience that the mark would show clearly on his pale skin, right above his shirt collar. A faint blush stained his cheeks as he realised that they wouldn't have to say anything after all – it'd be perfectly obvious from looking at him that they'd sorted things at least enough to make out.  
  
"It probably wouldn't have been too pretty, especially if I was high. I was very passionate, and very _angry_ back then, and you were in a band who'd signed with a major label so you would've automatically been the enemy. I probably would've started out calling you an industry bitch or something, and it would have gone downhill from there, until I either slammed the door in your face or I got the shit kicked out of me, which was more common than was really healthy." He snorted in wry amusement at the thought that his teenage self would have been horrified to see who he'd become at thirty-four. But Billie Joe had learned a few things in the years since, about using the system to effect change on a much bigger scale instead of preaching to the small numbers of the already-converted outside it; about where the real power was that he could access with his music. As much as they'd all second-guessed certain decisions at times, he didn't truly have any regrets.  
  
"But," he continued, his arms wrapping tightly around Lars, "if you'd taken those moments of surprise before I opened my mouth and kissed me the way you do now, I'm pretty sure the door would still have slammed, only it would've been because your back was pushed up against the inside of it. Since I was also young, perpetually horny and openly bi, and that's a formidable weapon you've got there."  
  
He captured the drummer's lips in a deep, fervent kiss, eyelids fluttering open when he pulled back. "I can be fucking aggressive sometimes, Uli. You'll learn that when you tell me you're ready." Acknowledging that he was willing to wait, and letting him know that Billie would not push. Not after what had happened on the veranda. No, the onus would be on Lars to make that decision, whenever it came about, and in the meantime the frontman wasn't exactly complaining about the way his lover wrung intense orgasms from his body. A slow smile spread across his face. "Illegal, naughty and wrong, huh? I think I like the sound of that."  
  
Something glittered in Lars's eyes, a mix of dark amusement and endearing anticipation, at Billie's words. "Mmm," he hummed in affirmation, smiling. "And what's great is that just because we're older, not necessarily wiser, it doesn't mean we can't find naughty things to do now. Let me put it this way, when I'm playing on the next tour, I might be imagining someone other than myself sprawled over my drums." Heat leaked into his gaze as he did indeed imagine what he'd just described. "But I've had a little taste of how you are when you're aggressive, and I look forward to-to being beneath you."  
  
He looked down, feeling a little awkward suddenly, as if so much stark honesty had caught up with him. To cover it, he buried his face into the curve of Billie's neck again. "Might be hard to believe, but I'm tired of talking."  
  
His hand drew up to rub callused fingertips against the other man's chest, a soothing, slow motion. A corner of his mind wondered exactly what James might make of him like this – more to the point, him like this with another man. Briefly, a vindictive urge flurried through him to have James see it. Someday maybe he would, maybe Lars could encourage Billie to come down to HQ one day, and James could see exactly what he'd lost and exactly why he wasn't needed in that part of Lars's life anymore. The urge faded, but still he wondered. He also couldn't help wondering what James really thought of their relationship in general. Certainly he knew of it, but since their talk all those months ago, he hadn't mentioned it at all…  
  
Lars frowned slightly. No, he hadn't mentioned it at all. Ignoring the implications in that, the drummer had to wonder exactly where that fucking voice had come from during the vacation. That accusing, deafening roar of a voice that had surged up in his dreams and brought insecurities he'd only truly become aware of earlier tonight crashing into his mind – _WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?_  
  
Whether this truly was what James thought or simply those insecurities of his given another voice, it still existed, even after everything he and Billie had discussed. He hadn't answered the question, not definitively. And _now_ he had to wonder what he could do to do so.  
  
The Dane pushed that away for now, comfortable in his lover's arms.  
  
The drummer's declaration that he didn't want to talk anymore made Billie grin. "Yeah, me too. I can think of better things to do, anyway. Especially with a drum kit sitting right over there." But he made no move to get up – instead, he slipped farther down on the couch, sliding more fully underneath Lars, and began to kiss his lover. Long, leisurely kisses that spoke of taking their time with each other, of enjoying each moment as it came; of tasting for its own sake.  
  
"Mmm," he murmured some minutes later, lashes resting yet on his cheeks as he smiled. Lars tasted of garlic and wine tinged with the smoke of coffee, and he exuded the same fragrance. It was a peculiarity of his that whatever he'd recently consumed lingered in his mouth and eventually migrated through his body. Billie'd noticed it in other European men before, but he'd never had a relationship with any of them so he'd never had the chance to play with the phenomenon. It amused him to guess what Lars had been eating merely by kissing him. He also got a possessive thrill from tasting himself on the drummer, from knowing that sweat licked up by that wicked tongue would scent his lover's skin for hours after they'd satisfied each other.  
  
Returning to his thought of 'better things to do than talk', Billie Joe emitted a rueful sound. "You know, that's one of the reasons we both got so turned inside out, because we almost always find something better to do than talk." Hazel eyes opened with a smile. "Maybe now we won't feel like we have to cram everything in all at once."  
  
He pressed another light kiss to wet lips and sighed, though his smile remained. "You ready for some plain old coffee and chitchat? No games, no more booze, just some, uh, smoothing over, I guess you could say. A little more polite conversation and then you can go free." His hand stroked gently along the older man's side and across his back, palm gliding in as reassuring a gesture as he knew. "You don't need to worry about Adrienne. As much as she sticks to her 'No Interference' policy, she still wouldn't have given you the key if she'd thought you were coming down here to hurt me."  
  
Billie looked earnestly at Lars. "Whatever either of you said or did to bring that about, it's between the two of you. She tries not to get involved in the relationship aspect of things at all. I know this whole evening seems to contradict that, but this is…this is new for her too, Uli. I was already sleeping with Mike when I _met_ Adie. She was the one who saw, far more clearly than I did at the time, that to ask me to commit to one woman exclusively, no men, would be to ask me to deny who I am. But that's just it: I was with Mike then, and all through my marriage, until you. She knows Mike, she's good friends with Mike and Tré too. And the others never mattered because they weren't important enough to me to potentially impact her. You are. You already have. But you're just this great big unknown to her so far and that's scary."  
  
He broke off with a small grimace. "I'm sorry, I…I try not to talk about her to you too much. I know you have some trouble getting your mind around the whole situation, and I know it's all kinds of strange to begin with, and you kinda get this spooked look when I say too much so I don't. But I love her too, so goddamned much, and maybe, you know, maybe it's time I did say something because I don't think you knew all that and maybe you should." He gave a startled laugh. "Okay. I think I'm done now."  
  
Lars snorted in sardonic amusement. "Yeah, shut up already." To add weight to the joking instruction, he initiated a slow, lazy kiss, thumb brushing the line of his lover's jaw. He was always well aware of how much his smoky green eyes gave him away, so to hear that he looked a little freaked out with talk of Adrienne was no surprise to him. Not only was this a night of revelatory honesty – it was also a night of a wealth of brand new information about Billie, about himself and about every level of their relationship, and it was altogether beginning to teeter on the edge of too much. He was pretty sure he'd have a headache by the time he got home, anyway.  
  
The fact remained, though, that he'd made his commitment to Billie and there was no way he would back out of it, however many other things in the equation scared the piss out of him or were currently beyond his level of understanding. With his own particular revelations tonight, ending their relationship would be impossible. So, just as Adrienne had said to him before handing him the key to the basement, he'd gotten thrown right into this over his head, but…  
  
 _But you need to learn to swim right fucking now._  
  
He looked down, studying Billie's face, watching his eyes drift open and meet his after their kiss. "Kind of hard for someone who's been in the media spotlight for as long as I have to think of myself as being a great big unknown. I guess that's ego for you," he mused. After a pause, he nodded. "But I do understand where she's coming from."  
  
Billie gave a little smile at that, which stirred something in the drummer's stomach, and he bent his head to place a kiss on each of the younger man's eyelids. This time it was not followed by any demand for secrecy.  
  
He was treading water, at the very least.  
  
Heaving a sigh, Lars pulled his legs underneath him and pushed himself upright, sitting on Billie's thighs. He grasped his lover's hands and pulled him up, smiling. "Coffee and chitchat."  
  
"Yeah. Just let me," Billie finished the sentence by nodding at his equipment with a smile. He let go of the drummer's hands and racked the swiftly detuned guitar, shutting everything down. He wouldn't be back down here tonight; tomorrow, though, he would listen to the bits he'd recorded and see if he still liked it, and play with it some more, try getting some lyrics down. Some songs came words first; others came by way of melody; some built themselves from seemingly disconnected moments and certain sounds. They were all different.  
  
This one…this one was going to be good, if he could stand to channel again and again all the feelings that had fuelled it in the first place. An indefinable little smile crossed his face. Billie Joe had managed to get through a year and a half of playing the song about his father constantly. He could do this, too.  
  
Ready, he approached Lars where he waited at the bottom of the stairs and of its own accord, one hand rose to cup his lover's cheek. Billie wanted to say something; 'thank you', maybe, or even 'I love you' one more time before he put the overt phrase away, but nothing came out. He'd already said so much. Too much for one night, words haemorrhaging from them both to tangle and fight, and ultimately soothe.  
  
In the end he simply looked at the older man, thumb absently stroking his cheekbone, gratitude and heat and love and longing – so many emotions shining clear in hazel eyes. Billie leaned in, brushing his lips across Lars's so lightly that he hardly felt it, and then he led the way upstairs.  
  
He made it halfway before warm hands slid over the backs of his thighs and up onto his ass, hindering his movement. He started to giggle but kept climbing, the drummer's tightening grip making it awkward until its warmth fell away as they tumbled out of the door at the top of the stairs to be greeted by Adrienne.


	9. Chapter 9

"I was just coming to check on you." His wife's eyes surveyed them, lingering for a moment on the vivid hickey on Billie's neck. A tiny smirk appeared. "I'll go make some more coffee."  
  
Though Lars resisted the urge to loop his hand around Billie's waist as they halted in the hallway, he did ghost it down the frontman's back in a gesture as much for Billie as it was for himself. His heart had begun thrumming insistently against his ribcage as the door of the basement had swung open, but it settled a little at Adrienne's cool reaction. As she turned to head to the kitchen, he shot Billie a glance, nerves no doubt shimmering somewhere in his gaze. He received a warm smile as a response, and it calmed him further, enough for him to return it and lead the way into the living room.  
  
Kirk was there, perched on the couch and cradling his own coffee in both hands. He looked up on hearing them enter, and his face softened as he seemed to take everything in at once – the lines of their bodies, their proximity, and the dark, speckled smudge on the side of Billie's neck. The guitarist gave a relieved grin and deposited his mug. "Fuck, you guys, I was nervous for a little while there."  
  
Lars rolled his eyes a little. "Yeah, _you_ were nervous." His lips were pulled into a smirk when his bandmate pushed himself up, met him halfway and caught him in a tight, one-armed hug. He returned it with both arms, snuffing a laugh into Kirk's shoulder, and smiled wide when he moved to grasp Billie in the same embrace. Fuck, he really _was_ feeling giddy. In the next moment Kirk jabbed him in the chest, brown eyes narrowed at him.  
  
"And later on I wanna talk about you blowing a guy while I was fucking asleep a bed away, you dick!"  
  
The drummer's cheeks reddened and he muttered something in his native language as he passed him, heading to the couch to slump down. Kirk flashed another grin at Billie before following the shorter man. Lars settled himself back on the couch, a far more relaxed pose than last time. His eyes drifted over to his lover as he sat back into his seat, smiling a little at the mark he'd left. When Adrienne returned with their coffees, he raised his mug in a silent toast. _To many more._  
  
He nodded to Adie. "Thanks."  
  
Not just for the coffee, not just for the meal, but for not throwing him off the property earlier, as she'd been perfectly within her rights to do. For having an understanding and acceptance of everything her husband was and needed to be – one that was greater than anything he'd ever encountered. Because without that, Lars wouldn't have Billie at all.  
  
Billie watched his wife incline her head in acknowledgement with a smile, and got the feeling that she and Lars had reached some kind of agreement – some plan or level of comprehension he wasn't privy to. Oddly, he found it more encouraging than unsettling, perhaps because it reinforced his hope – his _belief_ – that this could be made to work the way it needed to, fully and completely, in time. Time they knew they would have now.  
  
Kirk's friendly hug had surprised him a little but he'd realised after Lars had compared him to Tré that it was indeed a fair comparison. Both of them open-minded and even more open-hearted. He returned the guitarist's grin as Adie sat down.  
  
"So what do you guys do outside of Metallica, for fun? Lars, I know you collect art, right? Textiles are my passion. Billie and I have a record label with the Whites, and we launched a clothing line last year to go with it. That's my baby, and my time sucker, good God. Along with those two." She smiled and pointed to the ceiling, indicating their kids. "Billie wears a lot of it. Enough that Tré's started calling him my arm candy."  
  
He shot her an irritated look. "That's just sad coming from someone who's the definition of arm candy the way Tré is when he wants to be." Ignoring her giggle, he explained, "Jason White is our touring guitarist. He gets to be there for the tours and the performances, but he doesn't have to write anything and he doesn't have to do the media shit so I think he's one up on all of us there. We used to be in a side band together but I haven't had time to do anything but Green Day for a while. We might pick it up again sometime, or something else altogether. I know that's not something you guys do a lot of but punk tends to be a little more…" he trailed off, uncertain of what word he wanted.  
  
"Incestuous?" Adrienne offered with a laugh. "It can be a very inbred kind of community."  
  
Billie shrugged, smiling. "Yeah, that'll do. Kirk, you have a ranch, I know that much. Do you live there all the time or do you mostly live in the city?"  
  
He glanced around as the small talk kicked into the gear it had been meant to reach in the first place, before nerves and fear had caused such nearly disastrous misunderstandings, and couldn't have changed the upturn of his mouth if he'd tried.  
  
Kirk swallowed his mouthful of coffee, nodding. "Yeah, in the city. The ranch is more like a little escape. We should all maybe have a barbecue down there someday, get you guys on my horses," he indicated Billie and Adrienne with not a little amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Aside from Metallica, though, I've got the ranch and my horror stuff, checking out new and old music, guitars, jamming with bands…I'm looking forward to catching up with Tool and some other guys when we go off on tour in a couple weeks." Suddenly, he looked over to Lars. After a pause, he murmured under his breath. "We can tell them, right?"  
  
Lars shrugged. "Sure, whatever you want."  
  
The guitarist turned his gaze back to the couple. Smugness tinged his smile. "We're still in the planning stages right now, but we're gonna be playing the whole of _Master of Puppets_ , the album, front to back. We're putting together this whole light show and video thing around it. It's gonna be really cool."  
  
Lars remained mostly quiet as the conversation continued, obviously having the good grace to answer any questions directed at him – he replied that he didn't have time for much outside Metallica, his kids and socialising, and that his art collecting had sort of dropped off since _St. Anger_ – but keeping his opinions to himself if they weren't asked for. Partly this was down to the tiredness he'd been feeling, partly it was because he was unusually content to bask in the chatter, and partly because the wheels in his head were still turning.  
  
His bandmate seemed to remember something. "Oh! You know Pansy Division, right? I fuckin' played on one of their records! They're awesome guys."  
  
Further conversation stemmed from that, and Lars skritched at his chin and frowned into his mug. At one point, while Kirk and Adrienne talked, he looked up at Billie. His eyes flickered with something indefinable. "Um, could I use your phone?"  
  
Billie noticed Lars's relative quietness but since the drummer's relaxed sprawl hadn't changed, he didn't worry about it. Instead, he pounced enthusiastically on how incredible it felt to play a record front to back like that and giggled at the idea of Kirk playing with Pansy Division. Clearly the guitarist was even more comfortable with his own and everybody else's sexuality than Billie had thought. Reservations and inflexible thinking didn't last long around those guys.  
  
It crossed his mind to wonder if James had ever spent time with Pansy Division, or if Kirk had made friends with them all on his own. He guessed the latter, based on his and Lars's earlier conversation. Had James gotten to know the band, he might have come away from the experience with a better understanding of himself and a level of comfort with his sexuality he'd apparently never achieved. The same level that meant Lars was comfortable with Billie despite the bouts of macho posturing, or how easily he joked around with Kirk about the possibility of making out with him – fuck, the very fact that they _had_ made out and then some, just for the hell of it. While Mike had some issues, they were centred strictly around him and his own activities; he'd never had any problems with anyone else's sexuality, least of all Billie's. Well, so far as it being divided went, anyway. Billie's not very vanilla impulses hadn't gone over particularly well. Nonetheless, it saddened him a little to think that he'd won by default. By being someone who could, as Lars had said, give the drummer both the things James had and the things the other frontman had not been able to, even after twenty years together.  
  
His lover's request to use the phone broke into his thoughts. "Yeah, of course. Um, let me show you where it is."  
  
The short walk to the kitchen had his head whirling. Who the hell would Lars be calling now, that couldn't wait until he got home? Billie scanned the room, shaking his head when the cordless handset was nowhere to be seen. "This is why there's also one stuck to the wall, so I always know where the fucking thing is. I'll be," he waved vaguely in the direction of the others. He smiled in answer to the murmured thanks and left, glancing back just as Lars turned around and reached for the corded phone.  
  
A nervous flare in his stomach had Billie stepping the other way and into the dining room. The French doors between it and the kitchen had been left open and he positioned himself just out of sight, guilt swirling with burning curiosity. _He's probably checking up on his kids or something,_ he chastised himself. _He is not going to appreciate it if he finds out you were listening in._  
  
But he didn't move, instead straining his ears to catch each sound as the series of soft beeps told him that a local number had been dialled. Billie wasn't proud of himself for eavesdropping but his gut said that this was nothing so innocent as a goodnight phone call, partly because Lars surely would have said that upfront. And partly because, as reassuring as he'd found everything that _had_ been said, and as confident as he felt in their relationship now…he'd spent a long few months mired in doubt. One night wasn't enough to erase all that. So he waited, heart pounding in mingled fear and self-recrimination, as his lover's lilting voice began to speak.  
  
 _You – are – fucking – insane – you – are – fucking insane,_ said each number in his head as he dialled. _You really don't have the balls to do this._  
  
The rings echoed around in his head, mixing together as thoughts and nerves pulled him a little way from reality. _You_ really _don't have the balls to do thi—_  
  
" _Hello?_ " Female voice.  
  
"Um, hey 'Cesca, it's Lars. Is he there?"  
  
" _Nope, he's out at a party, a barbecue. I couldn't tell you whose, though, I don't know the guy. Hunting buddy._ "  
  
"Oh yeah, that's right. He's got his cell phone, hasn't he?"  
  
She answered in the affirmative, Lars thanked her and pressed down the switch hook, keeping the receiver in his hand. He tapped it against his forehead, then his chin, contemplating. _Okay, so this is your last chance, Uli. Maybe that was a sign not to do it. You should just put the phone down and walk away, because even if he is going to do what you want him to, which he won't, he's not gonna— You're fucking dialling?!_  
  
He hung up abruptly at that realisation and stared at the phone for a moment or two, inexplicably spooked. Huffing an irritated sigh, irritated at just about everything, fucking god _dammit_ , the receiver was lifted again and he began dialling a second time. As it rang, he scrubbed a hand roughly over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. "Fuckitfuckitfuckitfuckit _fandensforhelvede_ fuckitttttt—"  
  
" _Hello?_ " Male voice, framed by the background chatter of people. Showtime.  
  
"Hey, man, it's your drummer."  
  
The wheels in his head had been turning, and maybe, just maybe he'd figured out a way of getting rid of that last remaining James demon.  
  
" _Oh, hey, squirt, I didn't recognise your number._ "  
  
"I'm still at the meal. Listen, um, I need you to do something for me, okay? You're not gonna like it, you're not gonna wanna do it, it won't make sense and I can't tell you why, but you have to do it. Okay?" There was a long pause. Lars's insides turned themselves inside out then back again in the silence. "James?"  
  
Distinct wariness bordering on displeasure reigned in James's voice when he finally spoke. " _Depends what it is._ "  
  
"Promise me you'll do it."  
  
" _No._ "  
  
Lars gave another irritated sigh. It was quite amazing the impatient, belligerent front he could put on while his stomach insisted on doing _Cirque du Soleil_ -style acrobatics. "Fine, I'll tell you." A pause to steel himself. "I need you to yell something down the phone at me. Really loud."  
  
James snorted a disbelieving laugh. " _What?!_ "  
  
"You fuckin' heard me just fine, Hetfield."  
  
" _I'm not gonna yell, there's fuckin' people all around here!_ "  
  
"Well fucking move to somewhere where there _isn't_ people, fuck."  
  
Negotiations followed, with Lars trying to keep his voice to a strained hiss so as to not arouse suspicion from the rest of the house. Possibly the street. He managed to cajole James into moving to a quieter area, judging by the softer background chatter at the other end of the line. It was a start, at least.  
  
" _What do you want me to yell, anyways?_ " James asked, sounding utterly bewildered and not a little annoyed by now. " _I'd really like to know why, but that's been ruled out, apparently._ "  
  
"You have to yell, 'What the fuck are you doing?'. Really loud. You _have_ to."  
  
" _Fuck you, 'have to'._ "  
  
Irritated sigh number three. "Fuck, would you just fuckin' do it, already? You're making it out to be a bigger deal than it is."  
  
" _I ain't doing it, Lars!_ "  
  
More bickering, more negotiating. "If you don't do it, I'll go to HQ right now and piss on your Explorer. The white one."  
  
" _No you fucking wouldn't._ "  
  
"I'll drink Jägermeister and I'll go do it, I swear to you."  
  
Long pause. Then, a mutter. " _What the fuck are you doing?_ "  
  
"You have to _yell_ it, dick."  
  
James growled, then repeated himself, a little louder. Lars pushed him more. _He's gonna fucking kill you tomorrow,_ a voice told him in the back of his head. Finally, after what must've been a good ten minutes of talking, the frontman snapped.  
  
" _Ah, Jesus fucking Christ, FINE, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!_ "  
  
The silence that followed at both ends of the line was deafening. It was exactly, _exactly_ what Lars had been hearing in his head since that dream, and he almost balked at hearing it for real. Almost. His mouth hung open for a moment, words failing. But when they came to him, he swallowed and performed his exorcism.  
  
"What feels fucking right, you asshole."  
  
James managed to get out a, " _WH—_ " before Lars clapped the phone down. The drummer stood there, staring at it for a few moments, throat dry, eyes wide and hands in the air, not really knowing where they should go. For a few moments they settled on his head as his stomach nearly staged a full-scale revolt against the rest of his body. Then they moved to the counter top, resting at the edges and shaking a little. His head dropped to his chest and he closed his eyes.  
  
 _What feels fucking right._  
  
He had _no_ idea how he'd explain all that tomorrow. He was going to get torn a new one, he was sure.  
  
After steadying himself for a minute or two, he turned, rubbing at eyes that felt sore for some reason. He got a few steps back towards the living room before something prickled up his spine and brought his gaze to the side, to the dining room. To the girly pop-punk ringmaster hovering in the shadows and right then looking like he'd been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Lars snuffed a weary laugh, turning his body towards him.  
  
"Thanks for eavesdropping, I appreciate it," he drawled, pushing a hand through his hair. Then he opened his arms out towards the younger man. His voice went quiet. "Come here." Then, quieter still, "Please."  
  
Billie stared at his lover for a long moment, incapable of movement right at first. His uneasiness had grown with the fits and starts of Lars's dialling, knowing who he was calling by then but still, when James's name had actually been spoken…Billie'd thought he was going to puke right then and there, he really had. The cajolery that had followed had been illuminating, to say the least, giving him a far better understanding of the relationship between the two bandmates. He suspected that the dynamic between them had changed little, for all that it no longer led to the bedroom; not much had changed in the way he and Mike interacted, either. To hear Lars have to fight so hard for what was, in the end, a simple if strange request – if that had been necessary for such a stupid little thing, how much more would he have had to do for a kiss? Or, fuck, for a real conversation on some meaningless topic, not even the kind of heart to heart Billie and Lars had had earlier tonight? Had James ever told Lars he loved him? Seriously and soberly said those words?  
  
It clicked. Billie had spent all this time not quite understanding what the drummer found in him that he hadn't found in his own frontman, despite knowing about James's reservations and everything else Lars had mentioned – despite having fallen in love long before the possibility or even the idea of reciprocation had entered his mind, and now, at last, it clicked into place.   
  
Billie's strength and his weakness both lay in his vulnerability. In the way he deliberately left himself open. He was fully aware of this quality in himself – it was, in fact, one of the things he liked most about himself – and yet somehow, that had not mentally translated into being something that _Lars_ might appreciate in him. More, something that his lover might need but had never been given before. And maybe true comprehension had taken him so fucking long because it was also the one quality Mike had always scoffed at, finding Billie's openness to everything unnerving instead of empowering.  
  
He shoved away from the wall, stumbling forward into the beckoning arms and muttering a brief, "I'm sorry," before burying his face against the side of his lover's neck and inhaling deeply. He got it now. On the heels of his instinct to stick around, his gut said that what he'd heard last before the phone slammed down, about doing what felt right, meant that Lars got it, too.  
  
They belonged together.  
  
Stepping carefully back, Billie drew Lars with him until he leaned against the wall in the hallway with the drummer pressed close, knees wobbly with relief and needing the extra support. He gazed steadily into green eyes. "Is that…you needed to hear it out loud to find an answer, huh? Not just echoing in your mind?"  
  
Clear surprise made him laugh a little. "I know what it's like to hear your ex talking in your head, dude. Not that I ever needed to goad Mike into calling me a slut, but…" he trailed off, eyes dropping. He hadn't meant to say that. Giving an awkward shrug, Billie continued, "I guess it's not really the same thing, you know, remembering something that was said and imagining something. I mean you wouldn't have needed to really hear it if it was, right, so just forget that, it was stupid."  
  
His voice gentled, the nervous edge smoothing out as he admitted, "I'm glad I heard you. I…I know I shouldn't have stayed – I should have trusted you more – but I'm glad I did because I needed to hear that. All of it." He leaned forward, nuzzling and pressing a light kiss to the drummer's cheek. "Can you understand that, Uli?"  
  
Far too shaken up to meet Billie's eyes, Lars rested his forehead at the curve of the younger man's neck as he spoke, voice rough. "I don't care that you stayed, I don't care about whatever trust bullshit might be drawn from that. If you needed to do it, if you needed what I said, then take it, take me." Fingers trembled just barely at Billie's waist. His chest ached and felt loose and he really wouldn't have put it past himself to cry with relief, but he did have _some_ dignity left.  
  
Frankly, he'd had quite enough of scaring himself shitless for one night. Donington, times fifty. Only now he realised it wasn't just the sheer nerves that lay in that comparison, it was also the elation, the euphoria and the triumph. The relief of it all, the closure of finally hearing those words from James himself and actually having an answer for them, made him weak, and he practically melted over his lover. He tilted his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Billie's collarbone.  
  
"It feels right. I'm doing it because it feels right," he repeated, as much for his dying inner demons as for Billie. "I'm here because I want to be here and because it feels right for me to be here, to be anywhere, with you. You…you fit."  
  
Those last two words were about as close to a summary of everything James wasn't, everything Billie was and everything that had happened in his romantic relationships in the last four years – yes, even with Skylar to a certain extent – as he would ever get. Skylar hadn't fitted, she had known it, and left. James hadn't fitted, his loyalties lay elsewhere, and he'd ended it.  
  
Billie fitted. After three and a half years, from a chance meeting in a dead-end bar to the dinner tonight. To _this_ fucking embrace. He was still here.  
  
 _I love you. Jesus fuck, I love you._  
  
A choked off sob was all Lars would allow himself. He squeezed Billie tightly for a moment, the swirling in his mind from the call finally slowing down, things slotting back into place. "Fuck, I…" He trailed off, slight frown creasing his brow as one little word that Billie had spoken began pricking hot needles into the back of his mind.  
  
Slut. He hated that word. He was fine with it directed at himself because it was true, at least back in the day, and if the mood took him he'd have certainly played up to it. He'd actually been called it before he'd learned that the word even existed, the meaning of it, and even then it didn't ruffle him, it only served to goad him, like so many other things. Directed at anyone he cared about, and apparently especially Billie, it stirred something furious in him. The implications behind it, the images it conjured of some busty, bleached-out bimbo crawling around for every piece of meat she could find, or some strung-out, desperate teenager, or some square-jawed jock chugging beers, popping pills and flashing smiles at girls too young to know better. It was fucking disgusting. For a surreal, worrying moment, Mike appeared in his head with crosshairs levelled on his temple. Fjappe _, how could you say that to someone you're supposed to love?_ Lars straightened and green eyes burned with a dark, vehement fire as he almost physically bristled.  
  
"Mike can go fuck himself," he said, voice contorted with a taut snarl. "How dare he fucking say that, whether he was kidding or not, how fucking dare that _lortehoved_ say that. You're fucking _not_ a slut, because…" The end to his sentence echoed in his head a second before it passed his lips. "Because you're _mine_."  
  
His arms tightened a little unconsciously around Billie's waist, because now he could finally believe that it was true.  
  
The absolute surety in Lars's voice rocketed down Billie's spine and spread through him in a warm rush. He had to close his eyes for a moment against the surge, letting mind and body absorb it. His lover had been possessive right from the beginning, teeth setting into Billie's flesh in that hotel ballroom with the intent to mark permanently, but he'd wondered sometimes if part of the reason Lars liked leaving him with hickeys and other visible evidence was to convince himself that Billie was his. Even the dark smudge from barely half an hour ago had hinted at that ambiguity. But now, sure hands gripped his waist and the drummer pressed him tight against the wall, words vibrating with the certainty that had been missing.  
  
"Yeah, I am." He threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of Lars's neck, a memory rising of being shoved into a motel room door, trapped between wood and man until the door swung open, and what that man had said. _I'm gonna fuck you, and I'm gonna fuck you hard, and I'm damn sure that I'm gonna leave a mark or two, whether you want me to or not. But unless you want your ass in tatters, I need you on that bed in there, putting that complimentary shower gel to good use…'less you came prepared,_ slut _._  
  
Strangely enough it amused him, the disparity between the remembered words and the impassioned dismissal of such he'd just heard. Maybe because the rules were different with your lover than they were with some guy you picked up in a bar and took back to your room to fuck in a deliberate attempt to bury your personal pain. That sea change shouted his current status in the drummer's heart very clearly indeed.  
  
Billie wound his arms around Lars's shoulders and kissed him. "I am yours. And Mike's hang-ups don't matter anymore." Hazel eyes hooded as he murmured against full lips. "I know _you_ like my…enthusiasm, let's call it. You like it when I let you take over and orchestrate my pleasure. You like it when I totally let go with you." Another, deeper kiss. "You love making me scream and I know it."  
  
Lars made a sound of affirmation, somewhere between a hum and a growl, torn between his supreme irritation at that word being associated with Billie after everything that had happened tonight and the heat that swirled in his chest at each truth that passed Billie's lips and brushed his own. "I do," he murmured gruffly, swiping his tongue across his lover's bottom lip. "I like to open you up and find out what sounds I can get you to make." A smirk curved his lips. "I like unwrapping you."  
  
He claimed another kiss, each one deeper and slower than the last, hips pressing against hips. "Mine," he repeated, for the both of them. _Nobody gets to call you a slut anymore,_ he added silently. _Fucking nobody._ Resting his forehead against Billie's, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I'm done with acting fucked up for a while, I swear."  
  
There was a long pause, thoughts processing in Lars's head, then he slid a hand up the younger man's body to rub a thumb over a spot on Billie's chest that he'd already given so much attention to before. He opened his eyes and bent to press a kiss over his spot, his scar. Eyes lingering over it as he straightened, Lars spoke. "Tonight…a lot of shit happened tonight, too much than I can properly process right now. Tomorrow night I'm not in the studio, I've got some telephone interview, but I'll postpone it. I want you to cancel whatever plans you have, too. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock, I want you to come over to my house, the house that I'll have to myself, and I want you to spend the night." He pulled one of Billie's hands from his shoulder and kissed the centre of his palm.   
  
"Because after all of this fucking insanity and uncertainty and being morons and _this_ , right here and now…now I understand, I want to unwrap you, spread you out and make you mine." Another kiss to the palm, and a serious, penetrating green gaze rose to meet hazel. A tiny smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. "And I'm not gonna take no for an answer."  
  
Billie's breathing hitched at the blunt declaration of Lars's intentions, the languid interest his cock had shown in their kisses solidifying, literally. A breathless giggle escaped as he tried to remember if he had anything scheduled. He didn't, not until mid-morning on Monday. Desire swelled as he nodded.  
  
"I can do that. I'll be there." There wasn't any reason to disguise his eagerness or play coy about it and his hips rocked forward a little. "Definitely."  
  
He captured the growing smirk in a hard kiss. When he finally withdrew, he saw Adrienne over Lars's shoulder, obviously empty coffee mug dangling from her fingers and mingled exasperation and amusement in her expression. Billie grinned, a slight blush colouring his cheeks as he told his lover, "We'd better go sit back down. Unless, you know, you were looking to get me off right here in the hallway with my wife watching."  
  
Green eyes widened with a touch of panic and Billie clamped an arm around the drummer's waist, preventing him from pulling away. "Let it go." He slid his other hand into mussed brown hair and tugged Lars to him, meeting those lips with his tongue in a kiss that was all teeth and rhythm, kissing until his lover took over and pushed him harder against the wall, mouth working furiously to swallow the low moan Billie voiced.  
  
By the time Lars raised his head, Billie had almost forgotten why he'd provoked that kiss. His body felt heavy with need but this wasn't the time or place, even if Adie had disappeared. Probably got herself a refill or whatever she'd been heading to the kitchen for and gone back to entertain Kirk. He felt a small pang of guilt that he'd left her to carry off hostess duties pretty much all night but it eased quickly enough because the point of this evening had been Lars. He was why this dinner had been planned; he was the one who'd brought Kirk to be his security blanket; he was why Billie had been tied in painful knots earlier and why he felt confident and cared for now. Because Billie loved him and he knew Adrienne respected that.  
  
Weird? Maybe. Unconventional? Absolutely. But they'd been making it work for half his life now and Billie understood suddenly that his wife had been so insistent about getting to know Lars because she'd known how deeply his own feelings ran, better than he had, and she'd needed the same reassurance that the drummer wasn't going to disappear or otherwise break his heart. She needed him whole. That was why this arrangement had been born in the first place, because he had to answer to both halves of himself in order to _be_ whole.  
  
"I love you," he murmured, the words necessary right now. "And I love her. It's not a case of 'never the twain shall meet' or whatever, either. I need you both. I want you both." He pressed a light kiss to swollen lips. "What I don't want is anyone else. You're mine." The hand clasping his lover's waist slid down to curve over his ass as he thought of Lars's reply to his apology for eavesdropping. "I will take you someday."  
  
He punctuated the statement with a healthy squeeze and a smile, then jerked his head towards the living room. "C'mon. Let's go actually be sociable this time."  
  
Lars's cheeks had flamed with heat when Billie had pulled him into another kiss, libido giving a squeak of fright as he was made acutely aware of Adrienne's presence. The rhythm in it soothed him though, dulling the still present alarm bells of 'pissing on someone else's territory', and eventually he fell in, natural aggression skating up his spine to flatten into his body and steal Billie's every sound, every breath.  
  
A little thrill rippled inside him at the thought of the next night; his skin tingled. Evidently he had a little bit of planning to do, and it'd certainly take his mind off the chewing out he was probably in for on arrival at HQ tomorrow. _Ah, fuck it._ He grinned at the squeeze, stomach flip-flopping at the promise to take him. Right then he wasn't exactly sure if it was a good sensation, there were still too many things going on in his head and still too much linking the act with someone else. But he was beginning to come to the conclusion that maybe the time when he was the one lying spread out and undone on soft sheets, strong hands gripping fitfully at tattooed shoulders and small, shaky gasps shuddering from a wet, wide open mouth wasn't as far off as he'd previously thought.  
  
Billie didn't know quite how helpless Lars could become when he bottomed. He'd certainly seen shades of it that night out on the veranda, but it ran far deeper than anything he'd shown his lover before, and that was still a daunting thought. It was true that Billie had smashed through several of his own boundaries since meeting Lars, and the drummer had broken a number of his own. This one, fully giving over to Billie the territory that had previously, in all his forty-two years, only belonged to one man, was a big one. A really big one. The difference between now and last year was that now he wanted to break it. It wasn't sacred ground that he wanted to keep, to cherish anymore. In fact, in what could be seen as a bitter action, Lars wanted to purge all hold that James had on his heart, and it was beginning to dawn on him that perhaps in letting himself be dominated, be owned by Billie lay the key to that. And one day, as soon as his heart, mind and body would allow, Billie would take him and there would be no chink of space in him for visions of muscular arms, broad, bare shoulders and a persuasive, dark purr.  
  
Banishing such serious thoughts, he pulled away and allowed Billie to move from the wall, and as the younger man passed him, greedy Danish hands skittered up a lithe waist and brought their bodies together again. The two of them stumbled down the hall back towards the living room, snickering, until Lars twisted out another little moan from his lover when lips and teeth fell to a marked neck.  
  
As Lars's mouth withdrew from the temptation of warm Californian skin, he could've sworn he heard a certain wife mention something about 'getting handsy in the hall'. Sure enough, as the two of them re-entered the living room, Kirk gave a sly, naughty, oh-so-Kirk grin. "Goddammit, you horny fuckers! Bet you didn't even think about inviting me to get in on that." He looked over to Adrienne. "Inconsiderate of them to ignore us, huh?"  
  
Billie stopped so suddenly at Kirk's insinuation that Lars ran into him and cursed. He barely noticed it and answered, brilliantly, "Uhhh," his face flushing bright red. Adie put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. Kirk outright laughed. It only made him blush harder, some very vivid images running through his head that had no business being there.  
  
He probably would have kept standing in the middle of the doorway like an idiot except that Lars took his arm and steered him to the couch, both of them sitting down, the drummer in between the two guitarists. He could still feel his lover's teeth against the bruise on his neck and his cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, still elevated from their kisses. And the swirl of anticipation for what tomorrow would bring. _I want to unwrap you, spread you out and make you mine._ Even without more than the barest sense of what Lars might have in mind, it drove a spike of pure lust through him each time he thought of it.  
  
Which wasn't helping any with finding some fucking composure, sitting in a room full of people openly smirking at him with a lead pipe in his pants and flaming cheeks. His wife wasn't even bothering to hide it anymore. Billie rubbed his hands together, resisting the urge to like, cross his legs or something, and smiled brightly.  
  
"So, anyone seen any good movies lately?" He laughed at the incredulous looks shot his way at the total inanity of the question and relaxed, leaning back against the plush arm of the couch. Hazel eyes tracked a path to Lars, thinking about 'unwrapping', and a vague idea he'd had for a while swam to the surface as Kirk gallantly answered the ridiculous, waxing poetic about some horror movie. His gaze moved over the guitarist with a smile and then Billie looked at his wife.  
  
She met his eyes, capturing him with familiar warm darkness and he could see that the faint lines of strain around her mouth had eased into a wholly natural smile, wide enough to show her dimples, those tiny, potent signs of mischief and good humour that he loved. His own mouth stretched into an answering grin when she jumped in with a rebuttal to something Kirk had said, and his gaze swung back to Lars.  
  
He shared a smile with his lover and his stomach settled into calm stillness. They were all here, together, and they were all right, and they were his. Both of them. The ring on his finger and the ink on his skin bespoke her rights, and his scars and his heart bespoke his. Tomorrow, whatever happened, would cement the revelations that had happened tonight and seal him to Lars – imprint the drummer on him forever. Billie could hardly wait.  
  
Lars played with a curl of his hair, smirking as Kirk held court in a fine way. As ever, his bandmate had played the buffer, the middle man, at first becoming the bridge between the reluctant drummer and the anxious Armstrongs, and now maintaining this foundation of easy conversation for the group. Fuck, Lars would owe him several drinks after this.  
  
The chat continued for quite a while, long after each of them had drained their coffee, this time with all four of them actively participating. Talk crossed from movies to music to pastimes and back again, never falling into the thick, uncomfortable silences that had coloured everything a few hours ago. Lars's mind occasionally dipped out of reality, drifting to thoughts of tomorrow night. Well, less thoughts, more images – flashes of taut, bare skin blinking into his mind and proving to be very distracting indeed. He would've dearly loved, right then, to be able to drag Billie off to some secluded spot and lavish the attention on that tempting body that it so cried out for. That tempting body that was now _his_.  
  
He did his best to stay in the room, but after a while the combination of bad thoughts and consuming exhaustion began to take its toll, and he found himself intermittently missing a second or two of the conversation. He only began to notice this when the empty coffee mug had almost slipped from his grasp, causing him to have to shift in his seat to wake himself up. His hyperactivity only went so far, even with coffee.  
  
Kirk caught onto his lethargy with the barest of glances, and exchanged a look with the other two occupants of the room, smirking and giving a little headjerk in Lars's direction. Lars himself didn't notice any of this, having begun to stare blankly into his mug. He was pulled back into wakefulness by a hand clapping onto his shoulder.  
  
"Whoa, man, the time!" Kirk exclaimed, grinning. "We've got rehearsal time tomorrow lunchtime, I wanna get some sleep between now and then." The guitarist turned his gaze to Adrienne, finishing his next sentence in a loud whisper. "We'd better head out – _I don't think you and me are gonna get any action, not from the drummer anyway_."  
  
Lars gave the weakest sputter of indignance possible.  
  
Billie Joe suppressed a laugh at his lover's token protest and stood up, rescuing the mug from imminent disaster. He took Kirk's as well, depositing them all on the coffee table, and held a hand out to Lars, hazel eyes meeting green ones with a teasing sparkle. "I don't know about you, but I need some sleep." _Because I don't think I'll be getting much tomorrow night,_ he added silently.  
  
He waited patiently while Lars huffed about it, looking irritable, until finally he rose to his feet. Billie kept hold of him, entwining their fingers as the group made its way down the hall. Jackets and shoes were retrieved and donned, and then there was a little wrench in his midsection as his body disagreed with the impending separation.  
  
Ignoring it as best he could, he hugged Kirk – unselfconsciously this time – and thanked him. His wife added, "You're welcome any time, with or without these two. Clearly we don't need them to entertain us."  
  
Everyone laughed and, as sensitive as ever, the other guitarist made mention of starting the car and left the three of them standing there alone, in silence.  
  
Adrienne broke the tableau by embracing Lars, swift but sure, and squeezing his arm when she moved back. "The same goes for you, of course. Thank you for coming tonight, Lars; for putting yourself through that. I know it was difficult." She glanced at Billie, dark eyes enigmatic. "I think you'll find it was also worthwhile."  
  
Neither man had anything to say to that and Billie's eyebrows drew together quizzically when she smiled and raised a hand to his neck. A soft gasp escaped his lips as one perfectly manicured thumbnail dug into the fresh bruise and Adie smirked, gaze flickering to his lover. "Pretty," she opined, and then turned and left, sauntering down the hallway. Leaving him staring after her disappearing figure with his mouth hanging open.  
  
"Um." That was all that made it out at first. Eventually Billie laughed, a bit sheepishly. He had two separate partners, yes, but there was definitely some overlap, something he and Lars had discussed very briefly at the beginning when Billie had told his lover that he didn't need to be careful because his wife didn't mind the marks left on his skin. He'd left out the part about how much she enjoyed them, though.   
  
He skritched the back of his head, ducking it a little to one side and smiling. "So. Obviously no problems there about tomorrow. Did you want me to bring anything?" He couldn't resist suggesting it. "Ribbons and bows, maybe?"  
  
Lars grinned, rubbing at one of his eyes before the hand tracked around to hang from the back of his neck. "Um, no, not that I can think of. Maybe some extra K-Y," he added in a drawl. He actually stood and thought about it for a few moments, eyes slightly narrowed, before shaking his head. "No, no. Just you."  
  
There was an odd mix of amusement and vague incredulity tickling at his stomach at Adrienne's single word opinion of the mark he'd left on Billie. He'd obviously had an inkling that maybe the reason she didn't mind the abrasions, the bruises, the occasional scar was because she liked them – sending Billie home looking like he'd been in some sexually charged barfight and not getting his ear chewed off in an angry phonecall helped with that inkling. What he hadn't expected was for her to be not just open, but downright brazen about it. When she'd met his eyes, Lars's stomach had done a bizarre kind of somersault and instinct had momentarily told him he was going to be fucking _scolded_ for it, of all things. Then she'd murmured that word, and, well…fuck. Evidently he still had a lot to learn about the new wife in his life.  
  
The drummer reached for Billie and pulled him close, hands rounding his waist and fingers sliding down into the back pockets of the younger man's pants. A wide grin spread across his face. "Let's not do this again," he murmured, chuckling at the look on his lover's face. "What I mean by that is, next time let's just have a dinner, and coffee, and silly conversations. The rest of the stuff I'm done with."  
  
The grin faded into a soft, sleepy little smile as Lars simply regarded his lover for a couple of moments. Then they were kissing, he wasn't sure who initiated it; he was sure it wasn't down to his tiredness, perhaps it had been a mutual movement. Whatever, he was certainly not tired right then, and he was certainly very aware of the body fitted snug against him and the soft moan vibrating into his mouth. He answered the moan with his own before pulling back just a little.  
  
"Tomorrow, then," he purred, brushing his thumb over that full bottom lip, stealing another swift kiss and regrettably unwrapping himself from around the frontman. A wicked little spark went off in green eyes, and he turned, trotted down the steps and strolled towards Kirk's car.  
  
The guitarist eyed him as he sank down into the passenger seat, exhaling loudly with an unwipeable smile on his face. Kirk gave a low whistle. "So when's the ceremony, then? Are you going to Vegas, or what?"  
  
"Fuck you," Lars muttered imaginatively. He glanced at his bandmate, who was now matching his smile, and threw up his hands in easy defeat. "Yes, alright? I am, I do, everything you're fucking thinking. Now quit being so smug about it and take me home, fuck."  
  
Kirk slid his hands around the wheel and pulled away from the kerb. "Should I be buying you matching necklaces? How about those little heart ones, y'know, the little heart that's in two pieces and each piece is on a chain?"  
  
"Cut it out."  
  
He was still smiling.


	10. Chapter 10

"You think it needs cleaning again before you go?"  
  
Billie paused in the act of pulling on his shirt, inspecting the reddened skin around the brand-new tattoo. The purplish-black storm cloud had a sense of movement about it, aided by the triple lightning bolts that encased the similarly jagged lines of the scar on his chest in a vivid green. It seemed to be healing normally and he shook his head. "I'll take the lotion with me, though." Lars had a first aid kit that could take care of any necessary cleaning.  
  
In the first conversation he'd had with Tré after the morning he'd appeared at Billie's hotel room door, his bandmate had said that Lars's expression upon being woken up had reminded him of a thundercloud. And Mike had later pointed out that the then-angry-looking marks had a shape like twinned lightning. Billie had talked to his favourite artist about it and had a sketch done a while ago, but hadn't felt comfortable committing the design to his body. Not until last night's revelations.  
  
Now, he was nervous anyway. It was a whimsical idea, if a serious-appearing execution, and he wasn't entirely sure how Lars would take it. But his lover's talk of 'unwrapping' had brought the waiting design to mind and impulsively, Billie had decided to spend his afternoon in the tattooist's chair.  
  
He finished dressing and Adrienne cocked her head at him. "No eyeliner, huh?"  
  
Billie hesitated. "It'll just smudge really bad." He'd gone slightly formal with a shirt, tie and vest, and it did feel a little odd without the customary kohl accompaniment.  
  
"Sit." Eyebrows raising, he sat on the bed and his wife returned a moment later with a familiar black pencil. Obediently he closed his eyes and let her work.  
  
"Yeah, it will smudge, but you look so good when it's a mess. Sinful," she told him. "Still got butterflies?"  
  
"Little bit," he admitted.  
  
"He won't hurt you. Well, emotionally," Adie amended with a laugh.  
  
His eyes popped open once she was finished and he looked at her suspiciously. "What the hell did he say to you?" At her pointed look, Billie sighed. "I know, I know. You're not talking." More seriously, he wondered, "This doesn't bother you?"  
  
She gave him a soft smile. "I know you love me, babe. And I know you need this with Lars. That's what that damn dinner party was about, right? Besides, I already had you." Her smile widened, one dimple appearing when he laughed. Sleep had been a long time coming last night and something else Lars would uncover were the thin red lines scored down his back where long fingernails had scraped at the flesh.  
  
Ready, Billie kissed her and left. His stomach turned somersaults as he drove, achieving aerial acrobatic status when his knock at the front door brought him inside his lover's lair, feeling very much like prey. Only, his nerves owed far more to anticipation than anxiety, and after a hello kiss he leaned against the inside surface of the door, hazel eyes telegraphing the heat that had begun building in him.  
  
"I have to leave around nine, nine-thirty tomorrow, so we've got twelve hours, Uli, give or take a little sleep." He tilted his head, looking up at the drummer through his eyelashes with a flirtatious little smile. "Twelve hours during which I won't say no to you."  
  
"Good," Lars replied simply, letting his eyes track over Billie's body, over the smart attire. The complacent smile curving his lips grew a little, teeth glinting in the soft light as he bit the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, his current dress was far less impressive, wrapped as he was in an oversized wine-coloured bathrobe. Between rehearsal at HQ, practice at home and getting himself ready, time had escaped him once again. To divert Billie's attention away from that fact, as much as was possible anyway, the drummer sidled up close to where Billie had effectively pinned himself against the door. He raised his hands to rest against the mahogany either side of the younger man's shoulders and came in close, snared by the heat flickering like candle flame in kohl lined eyes.   
  
One hand slid to tug at one of the buttons on Billie's vest. "What's all this, huh? Delay tactics?" he drawled, eyeing the younger man with languid interest. "Or is this enough of an occasion for you to put on special wrapping paper?" He canted his head to one side and dipped in a little closer, nose brushing Billie's jawbone as he took a moment to inhale and remind himself of an irresistible scent that was now so familiar. He let out a low purr of approval, lips grazing smooth skin as he withdrew. Not far, though, as the pull of Billie's lips proved to be too strong, and his own moved to meet them.  
  
The kiss amped up from tender to passionate in a scant few seconds, it becoming abundantly clear that neither of them was particularly willing to beat around the bush tonight. Lars pressed against his lover, grasping his wrists and pinning them back against the door, growl bleeding out past tongues that twined and lips that mauled. His stomach clenched, intense heat building, swirling, until he forcibly tore himself away, breathless and grinning. He chuckled. "We should probably be pacing ourselves, right?"  
  
He backed off a few steps, pushing a hand through his still wet hair in an attempt to regain his composure. Luckily for him the bathrobe was so voluminous it hid his growing erection.  
  
"Okay, I'm gonna get dressed, you go into the kitchen, I left a couple things in there for us, and then, um," he paused and nodded to himself, knowing smile shading his face. "You know where to go." Slipping his hands into the pockets his bathrobe, he turned and sauntered towards the staircase, throwing another casual remark over his shoulder. "Settle back and fantasise about all the things I might do to you tonight."  
  
A few minutes passed before Billie thought it would be safe to move without the danger of having his knees dissolve out from under him. His first impression of being prey had been dead on and that kiss had proven it. Pacing themselves, huh? He didn't know if that was going to be possible, at least at first.  
  
What he did know was that he didn't get a say about the pace. Or anything else. When he'd agreed to this, it had included the unspoken clause that he was giving up all control. The way Lars had just come after him said that the drummer had understood that very well. Though he was still a little nervous, most especially about the potential reaction to the new ink, he wasn't scared. In fact, as Billie let his mind wander into fantasy like his lover had suggested, he found that the possibilities excited him in a way that made his stomach tremble and his breath catch, that simple act becoming almost difficult through the thick haze of desire that gathered around him.  
  
He broke into laughter when he reached the kitchen and spotted the dual bottles of wine – one white, one red, with nary a wineglass in sight. Memory washed over him of that first meeting, dark liquid pouring down his throat and later, his companion's tongue following that same route, one hand reaching into his pants and stroking his cock openly, uncaring of who might see, while the other held him down…  
  
Fuck. If he kept thinking like that, he'd end up coming in his pants all by himself before Lars even finished getting dressed. Which seemed like a waste of time, really, when whatever clothing he was currently putting on would definitely be getting removed, but Billie understood it on a deeper level. Clothes were power of a sort, and with him in fancier rags than usual the bathrobe wouldn't work for Lars, cute as it was. Anything that left Billie with power would be removed. His lover had remained clothed whilst stripping him naked before and there was something incredibly erotic in the contrast; it held an extra edge of naughtiness. Like wearing those fucking sunglasses when he watched Billie jack off right in front of him, acting out a fantasy Lars hadn't even known Billie had.  
  
 _Oh, Christ._ Billie Joe grabbed the bottles and lifted the red to his mouth, taking a long swallow before carrying them both into the living room. He had jumbled thoughts yet about the jacuzzi incident but the more negative emotions attached to it had faded some in the last twenty-four hours, leaving a liquid warmth at the recollection that whispered of trust.  
  
He sank down onto the leather couch, leaning back comfortably with his wine bottle propped on his hip, and settled in to wait for Lars with his mind spinning, each path it sped down growing a little dirtier.  
  
Lars, meanwhile, wasn't far off breaking out into a show warmup, stretching, jumping on the spot, pumping himself up for the night. It certainly held a similar excitement, a similar into-the-breach feel. He was in his bedroom, pulling a black muscle shirt down over his head and eyeing himself in the mirror as he followed his own instructions – thinking about all the things he might be doing to Billie later. A lick of fire rolled up his spine at the various images, making him arch slightly, anticipation and need gnawing at his stomach. But he would be a filthy liar if he said he wasn't nervous.  
  
This was the first night since the revelations of the dinner, the first night since then that he was having alone with Billie, and the first night since then where he would have unquestionable dominance. The last time they'd had sex was a few nights ago, on the boys' night out that he'd suggested, the quiet drink having descended with alarming speed into impiety by moving out into the parking lot, or more specifically, the back of Lars's car. Between then and now, well, the relationship could scarcely have had more strain, turmoil, examination and finally, thankfully, growth, strengthening and intensification. Which all made tonight really fucking important indeed.  
  
He had no real set plan for the night; partly because he hadn't really had time to sit down and think about it, and partly because it might take away from the excitement of it all. If their hedonistic odyssey in the Caribbean had taken factors of their relationship to another level, if last night had brought up emotional factors to the same level, then tonight would most certainly take everything up another notch as one. Tonight would solidify, tonight would underscore, tonight would be the period, the exclamation point behind everything that had happened between them so far. Hell yes, he was nervous. But right then he also wanted it more than anything else in the world.  
  
Slicking a little product into his dried hair and sliding a belt through the loops of his tan pants – fuck it, if Billie was dressed up, then he was gonna dress up too – Lars gave himself one last glance over in the mirror before turning and heading for the door. The drummer was halfway out when he paused, looking back at the crumpled bathrobe. He tapped a finger against the doorframe in thought, then turned back and picked the garment up, pulling the belt from its loops and winding it around his hand. _Hey, if I kind of enjoy this particular bit of kinky shit, maybe I'll appreciate it tying someone else…_  
  
He padded back downstairs after dropping off the fabric belt in the master bedroom, and languished against the doorframe for a moment once he reached the living room. Heat once again curled tendrils in his stomach and tickled his spine, and he offered Billie a smug little smirk, smoky green eyes heavy-lidded and already dilated. Pushing away, he strolled to the coffee table before the couch that the other man had settled on, then picked up his wine bottle and took two good long gulps before sinking onto the couch himself. He tucked a leg up under himself and shifted close to his lover, slinging an arm over the back of the seat.  
  
"So, what do you think I should do now, huh? Did you think of anything good while I was gone? Do I make with the small talk, do I gaze into your eyes and tell you how beautiful you are?" The hand wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle moved to the waistband of Billie's pants, one finger uncurling to slide behind and stroke at hidden skin. Soft, teasing enquiry laced his voice. "Do I seduce you, Billie Joe?"  
  
Something Kirk had once said sprung up in the back of his mind as he shifted just a little bit closer, warmth and a few butterflies stirring inside him. _You can think whatever you want about Lars, but he can charm the pants off a fuckin' shop dummy._  
  
Billie's skin jumped at the light touch, that single finger sending a bolt of lust through him that was way out of proportion to the barely-there sensation. His lips parted over a sharp exhale and then pursed. "Oh, yeah, I thought of all kinds of interesting things." His voice sounded a little rough and he had to smile.  
  
Fuck, the drummer looked good. Muscular shoulders bared by the shirt, long-ish hair curling gently over the back of his neck…green eyes simmering with wickedness. It was the last part that always got Billie into trouble. Lars could be utterly charming, sweet words leading you in whatever direction he wanted, but it was the way he looked at Billie that undid him, the fire and the mischief and, eventually, the need. The need for _him_ : for his reactions, his pleasure, for the way they fit together and demanded everything from each other.  
  
It shocked him how clear it all was now that he wasn't trying to hide anything.  
  
A smirk tugged at his mouth and he had to clear his throat before speaking. "Since you're asking, I'm kinda small-talked out. This was a nice touch." He raised the bottle in his hand towards the older man then brought it to his mouth and tipped it up for a long pull on the contents. Licking his lips, he regarded his lover, that so-soft caress making him want much, much more. Billie trailed his hand along Lars's arm, feeling the subtle shift of muscle there as heat rapidly spread from that tiny point of contact. "I'm already yours for the taking, Uli." The smirk emerged in full. "Can't say I'd mind hearing that I'm beautiful, though."  
  
Lars snuffed a laugh and gave a small eyeroll. "Like you don't know that already." He didn't fail to notice the chain reaction his little touch had created; he also didn't fail to feel the hairs rising on the back of his arm in the wake of Billie's own caress, or to notice the slow slide of a moist pink tongue along full lips… _Fandens_ , was this turning into a sexy-off, or something? His finger slipped a little further down, stroking the curve of a tattooed hip in tiny, swooping motions, his own skin beginning to tingle in anticipation. There were now only a few inches separating the two of them, and the sparks that were going off in that tiny space were indicative of the probability of some ripped seams, some flushed cheeks and some wanton moans appearing in the next fifteen minutes or so.  
  
His gaze strayed to the purplish, speckled bruise at Billie's neck, before returning to hazel warmth. He raised an eyebrow, echoed words unfurling slowly from him like the languid stretch of a pampered cat. "Mine for the taking."  
  
They felt good on his tongue. Nowhere near as good as warm Californian skin, but good all the same.  
  
"Well, you are. Beautiful." A beat, and a wide, impish smile spread over his face. "C'mon, you don't think Lars Ulrich would be getting serious with just anyone, do you?"  
  
That earned him a chuckle and a reprimand in the form of a jab in the shoulder, and he giggled mischievously, withdrawing that teasing finger to swig from his bottle before stretching to set it on the coffee table. His pristine living room, with its white walls, black furniture and occasional piece of modern art exuding the impression of a bachelor pad, wasn't exactly the most romantic setting, even with the soft lighting coming from four dimmed spotlights attached to a curving bar across the ceiling. No matter, though, the bedroom would beckon soon enough.  
  
As he sat back, he grasped Billie's hand, meshing their fingers and pulling the younger man towards him to meet his lips in a slow, savouring kiss. His free hand moved to rest at his lover's side, tugging him a little closer. He shifted himself, both legs tucking underneath him before he rose to his knees and silently encouraged Billie to lie back. The other wine bottle was set aside with far less grace, wobbling to stillness on the carpet as attention on the rest of the world faded and a drumstick callused hand slid to stroke over the smaller body pressed close to him, teasing past that waistband with growing insistence.  
  
Billie melted into the kiss, yielding easily to the drummer pressing him down onto his back. The scent of leather rose around him as he shifted to lay flat and it sparked off a quiet moan that spiked louder when that hand found its way beneath the waistband of his pants again. His shirt had ridden up as he slid into position, exposing a wide strip of flesh. The butter-soft leather smoothed against the small of his back in a sensual caress that felt wonderful.   
  
So did his lover's teasing fingers stroking his abdomen. He kissed harder, his own hands rubbing shoulders and biceps to no avail. Billie felt ridiculously frustrated considering that Lars hadn't even touched him intimately yet. Even as he thought that, warmth wrapped around his erection and he arched into the contact with a cry, his mouth disconnecting from the kiss involuntarily.  
  
"Fuck," he moaned, surprised and almost embarrassed at the strength of his response to such a simple thing. Almost. Anticipation had been swirling madly inside him all day, accomplishing its own sort of foreplay, and right now, with Lars's hand on his cock at last, he was ready to pop.  
  
"I don't think I can wait, Lars, I want you too fucking much. You've been whispering in my head all goddamned day." He pushed his hips up, helping the slide of flesh against hard flesh with another moan, feeling like a quick-triggered teenager as the pressure built so quickly his head spun and he admitted, "I'm almost there, just, please don't stop. Please." Billie didn't even care that that would mean coming in his pants – anything was fine so long as the drummer didn't stop touching him.  
  
Initially, eyebrows raised at Billie's admissions, then Lars smiled, somewhat smugly. "Really?"  
  
His hand stilled but didn't pull out of the pants of the man beneath him, and he narrowed his eyes briefly in quick thought. While his arousal was building at a wonderfully steady, slow pace, it seemed that Billie was about to peak, and he'd been in Lars's house for barely half an hour. Any niggle of disappointment the drummer might have momentarily felt washed away with the birth of an idea. A skeleton plan mapping out in his head for their night, one that he hadn't even considered before but now seemed very appealing indeed.  
  
His eyes tracked back to meet Billie's, something fresh glittering in them. He shifted his position until he was comfortable, then his unoccupied hand raised to grasp the younger man's chin. "Okay. But I don't think I need to say that I'm not done yet, I've barely even started," he stated in a rough voice, almost a growl. "So you better have some stamina, because I'm gonna make you come again and again and again before this night's out, and tomorrow morning you're gonna be so tired you'll be _crawling_ back to your car."  
  
Not giving chance for any kind of response, Lars rained wet kisses down onto Billie's neck as his hand began to move again, slow at first. Tattooed hips bucked uncontrollably at the sensation, the hand increased in speed and as Billie began to arch, the older man straightened to watch. To drink it all in.  
  
Billie's mental whimper of frustration when the drummer had stilled transformed into a bright, vocal moan when Lars resumed stroking him and it overtook him fast, oh holy shit so fast, he was _right there_ and shuddering in release in no time at all, eyes shut tight and mouth open wide to pant in ragged sound.  
  
A rueful smile curved his lips as his body relaxed and he looked at his lover, finding matching amusement in Lars's expression. "I haven't done that since I was a kid, before I knew 'regular' and 'sex' could belong in the same sentence." He laughed and rolled his eyes a little at himself. "Goddamn, you didn't even undo my fly. I'm still fully fucking dressed." At least he had on underwear today – a leopard-print thong, specifically. He'd come across it while rooting through his clothes and the imp of the perverse sitting on his shoulder had suggested wearing it, solely for the potential reaction. And maybe, a little bit, as a test, to see how Lars would deal with it and its implications.  
  
The drummer's words floated back to him, now that he could really think about them, and his breath caught. Billie did not doubt that his lover could exhaust him that thoroughly; the thought of what exactly might bring about such a state made his half-hard cock twitch where it was encased yet in a sticky hand. He voiced a slightly shakier laugh.  
  
"You know, you told me, when you went to get dressed, to fantasise about what you might do to me. Dude, I have been thinking of practically nothing else since I woke up this morning. You've been driving me fucking insane for hours in absentia." Hazel eyes lit with heated promises. "I'd've been disappointed if this wasn't just the beginning." He grinned. "Especially _this_. That would just suck."  
  
Billie raised his head a bit, seeking his lover's mouth; Lars obliged him with a kiss. He revelled in the taste for a long moment before adding, "I'll have way better stamina with that out of the way. Promise."  
  
He gave the drummer a coy, sultry look, finishing with a non-verbal invitation. _Let's see how far you can push me._  
  
Lars smirked and sat back onto his haunches, and in turn, Billie's legs, as he carefully pulled his hand free. He frowned slightly at the minor redness high on his wrist, not having noticed the irritation brought about by friction against that waistband. Maybe he should've undone Billie's fly after all. Ah well. He looked around briefly for tissues or a towel in the vicinity, and finding nothing within reach, he shrugged and licked his hand clean with all the sexiness of a kid that's just dipped his hand in cookie dough. Wine and come was a strange but nice combination, he decided.  
  
Once finished he smacked his lips loudly, grinned and bent for another kiss, and another, and another, sweet little kisses peppered with pleasurable little moans. Hands moved blindly to grasp hands, hips rocking slowly into hips and sending sparks shooting up his spine, his body lowering to spread over the one beneath him. "Fuck, you taste really good," he rasped between kisses. Once again they escalated, growing deeper, harder, and soon enough his erection was pressing demandingly into his lover's groin and he forced himself to stop for the sake of self-control. He exhaled another profanity, eyes glowing in the dim light as his whole body was very much alert and craving more, right now.  
  
 _Pace your fucking self, Uli,_ he murmured inwardly. His nerves had disintegrated in the face of escalating desire, so there wasn't much room in his head or his pants for hesitation or pacing. Prising one hand free of Billie's, he reached for his wine bottle, rising to take a long few swigs of its contents, bizarrely enough to clear his head. He smirked when an idea came to him, and the bottle was set aside again before he reached for the red wine. With the other hand, he pulled Billie up into a sitting position, legs moving to straddle him and tipping some of the red wine into his mouth. Then, he beckoned Billie closer, tipped his head up a little and met his lips, and as they parted the liquid drained into the other man's mouth. Unfortunately, he hadn't quite made a good enough seal, and some of the wine dribbled out of the corner of his mouth as Billie swallowed. It dripped onto his pants before he could pull away and stop it.   
  
" _Forhelvede_! It's not as easy as they make it look in the movies," he chuckled rather sheepishly, swiping his hand across his thigh in a feeble attempt to remove the stain. At least it helped to calm his libido, which was very necessary right then. Getting the balance between silly and sexual was proving to be difficult tonight, but it didn't bother him, they had all night to perfect it. As he wiped at the corner of his mouth, he noticed his lover had a similar red line tracking down from grinning lips. Without a thought, he darted in, wickedness glittering in green eyes, cupping the side of Billie's face and dragging the tip of his tongue along that line. He stole a quick kiss before pulling back and handing Billie his drink.  
  
"Okay," he began, eyes dropping to Billie's tie. "I think we should be moving this to somewhere where there's no danger of falling off." He met Billie's eyes and a dark smirk blossomed on his face. "So I don't have to hold back."  
  
At that, he raised his hand and pulled that tie free of the vest, giving it a little tug as he moved to stand. His own wine bottle in hand, he began to lead Billie towards the staircase.  
  
The frontman followed Lars upstairs – not that he had much of a choice, what with the older man using his tie like a leash. Billie could say that he hadn't really thought about that application of his attire, and consciously at least it would be true; but he recalled vividly being dragged onto a starchy motel bed by the fabric cinched around his throat and how dirty it had made him feel.  
  
He licked his lips, tasting wine and Lars and himself, and grinned, thinking of how his lover had started to get carried away. When Billie'd said that his own little slice of ecstasy would allow him the required stamina, he'd meant it. Desire laced easily through him but he knew that now, he would be able to hold out. Which meant he could focus some of his energy on driving his lover nuts with the way he responded to him; the way he let himself be opened; the sounds he made. Of course, with the promise Lars had made about Billie's probable condition come morning, apparently he wasn't going to be allowed to hold out, exactly. No matter. He might be wrung out and dizzy by the time it happened, but the Dane _would_ lose it.  
  
Eventually.  
  
They entered the master bedroom, red lacquered walls only a whisper of colour in the soft lighting, all of it aimed at the massive bed. Billie's stomach clenched with fierce arousal and the sudden return of nerves as he stared at the expanse of fabric. This was where he would be made over. Where whatever was inside of him would be awakened fully and set free, with one person orchestrating that transformation and serving as witness too. Very close witness, by the looks of it, and that thought burned off the nervousness in a heat rush as the drummer turned to face him, hand still wrapped around his tie.  
  
Billie lifted his wine bottle and took a healthy swig, cheeks already flushed from his earlier orgasm and being led here like a pet. Hazels glowed with something elemental and his voice rasped low when he spoke. "You want to watch me, huh? Yeah, you always do." He slunk closer, his body moving with liquid grace, and wetted his lips, gaze not moving from Lars. "Well, I want to show you anything you want to see."  
  
Lars's skin tingled deliciously at that, and he echoed Billie's swig, the corners of his lips curled up in an irrepressible, sinful grin as they wrapped around the mouth of the bottle. The desire that radiated from his lover, in his cheeks, his eyes, his expression, in his entire body, all reached out towards him with phantom claws and beckoned him close, beckoned him to give in. To lose himself in heavy heat, breathless moans and the slide of wet skin.  
  
 _Not yet,_ he told himself. _Not yet._ Though he did begin to wonder how long he was going to be able to hold out.   
  
He gave a small but sharp tug on Billie's tie, eyes suddenly brighter, suddenly more penetrating, like some fuse had just been lit in his mind. "I want to see you squirm," he murmured. Then he led Billie towards the bed, the air between their equally electric gazes almost visibly crackling, guiding him until the backs of his knees met the mattress. He set aside both their bottles at the foot of the bed, before nimble fingers danced down the front of his lover's vest and swift hands swept the garment off his shoulders and onto the floor.  
  
"Lie down." Of course, as he said the words, fingertips pressed into Billie's chest and pushed him back, so before the command had even fully left him, Billie's body was bouncing to stillness on cotton sheets. In the same instant, Lars was crawling over him, hands darting everywhere and lips following the trend, seeking warmth through the clothing and stirring the pleasure in his gut once again. Teeth briefly found flesh as he reached Billie's neck, sucking at his bruise, and hands finally found a target, tugging that tie loose and beginning to work on the buttons of his shirt.  
  
"I want to see you _bare_ ," he whispered against marked skin.  
  
Billie had choked back a hiss of pain as Lars's fingertips had pushed him down, one hand hitting the edge of the tattoo the drummer didn't know was there. He didn't think his lover had noticed, not with the way he'd immediately pounced, callused hands and devastating mouth charting his body in eager caresses.  
  
He moaned at the feel of teeth worrying the existing bruise, some of his pleasure lying in the knowledge that it was clearly visible no matter what shirt he wore. A visceral mark announcing that he'd been claimed. That he'd been taken.  
  
He wriggled a little to help slip his tie off and then his buttons were all undone and his torso lay bare, skin shining pale where it was uninked. And where it was, colour danced and shimmered in the low light as Billie breathed raggedly, green lightning winking up at his lover from just over his right nipple. He knew Lars had noticed it when the hungry movements stopped and the drummer simply stared at the brand new tattoo.  
  
"The design's been ready for a while now. Today seemed like a good time to get it done," Billie said quietly, butterflies kicking up a storm in his midsection. He looked openly at his lover with his nervousness visible.  
  
"That's…" The word 'new' died in Lars's throat, and had he been more aware, he probably would have been glad of it, because it was ridiculous. Instead, after a moment, he finished his sentence with something else. "My scar."  
  
 _Holy fuck._  
  
He rested a fingertip at the redness surrounding the ink with searing gentleness, perhaps unconsciously scared that the freshly marked skin might break under his touch, or something. A thundercloud, heavily shaded and glaring in its darkness…green forks of lightning almost luminous against pale skin…framing his scar. His own laboured breath rasped loud in his ears.  
  
His eyes raised, seeking hazel. "This is me? I mean—" Eyes flicked down to the tattoo, then back up again. He sounded stunned. "This is mine?" A slight nod was given in reply, and he looked back down, peering closer, eyes bright and wide. "Fuck," he whispered, awed.  
  
Tattoos were a big deal. Tattoos were permanent, they were on skin until the body decayed, they professed love, solidarity, remembrance, faith, strength, personality. Whether they meant the world or nothing at all, they were all still permanent. Especially to a tattooless person such as Lars, tattoos were a very big deal. Now Billie was sporting one, there 'til his dying day, that represented him. And that struck him deeply.  
  
Lars's eyes explored the tattoo, over and over, until his heart gave a hard punch in the ribs and forced a huffed laugh from his lips. Finally, he looked up and met Billie's eyes again, soft smile curving his lips and too much swirling in his eyes. He gave a hopeless shrug. "I-I can't even…" The rest of the sentence disappeared into the ether, and he shrugged again, shaking his head.  
  
Ladies and gentlemen, Lars Ulrich. Speechless.  
  
He looked down and framed the tattoo with his hands, that gentle smile never leaving him. Eventually he looked up again and nodded, finding his voice.  
  
"It's awesome," he whispered.  
  
With that, he lowered himself and gave his lover a tender kiss. He pushed a hand into Billie's hair when he spoke, hushed words falling onto full lips and green eyes saying so much more than he was able to right then. "You mean so fucking much to me."  
  
Billie hadn't been sure what to expect when he was found out; he'd hoped Lars would be pleased. He'd figured, with everything that had been said last night, that the drummer would take it in stride and not freak out at the permanence of it at the very least, and enjoy the idea of such a blatant, personalised mark. Of all the scenarios that had played through his head, though, this incredulous softness, this stunned wonder, had not been one of them. His lover's face was that of someone given a truly special gift and his unconcealed awe made Billie glow as much as the words Lars finally found.  
  
"I know," he murmured, reaching up for a kiss. "I wanted to give you something to really unwrap, and… I've wanted to do it for a long time, Uli, but the time wasn't right before."  
  
He shifted to grasp the drummer's free hand and place it squarely on the dark spread of ink. "You can touch it. It is really sensitive, yeah, so I'd kinda prefer if you didn't poke me there again." He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. "But if you press lightly it's okay."  
  
Billie held that hand and moved callused fingertips over the newly-etched skin, letting go when Lars's hesitancy faded and he traced all over the design, following the shading and the lightning. Hazel eyes closed briefly and he voiced a low moan, lashes fluttering open with a smile at his lover's raised eyebrows. "It rides that edge, you know, between intense sensitivity and real pain. I like the way it feels." He raised his lips for another kiss, tongue swiping across a Danish mouth. "Like you needed to be told that."  
  
His smile widened and softened as he gazed at Lars. "It means a lot to me that you like it."  
  
"Nobody's ever done anything like this before," the drummer murmured. "Not with thoughts of me. Nobody who's not a fan, anyway. It's, um…"  
  
There was a long pause as he traced over the lightning bolts, and he smiled again. "Yeah, it's awesome. A thundercloud, huh? Okay," he added, wry amusement in his tone. He mused inwardly that it was a good summary of himself, both good and bad elements – he couldn't really imagine himself having quite that degree of foreboding, of ominous, threatening physicality, but it was a better image than Sharkboy.  
  
He dipped his head again to claim another kiss, deeper and slower than before. As their lips slid together, tongues indulging, slow tasting, he traced the tips of his nails over the tattoo, reveling in the resulting little whine that bled into his mouth.  
  
Abruptly Lars made an odd, almost surprised sounding noise and broke away, eyes alight. "Oh fuck, wait! I just remembered!" All of a sudden the epitome of boyish excitement, the older man scrabbled off the bed and practically ran over to one of the black lacquered cabinets against the wall, digging through the drawers. His frantic search turned up nothing, and he cursed in his native tongue, turning back to his lover. "Wait right there, okay? I'll just be a second. Fuck!"  
  
With that, he darted out of the room, descending the stairs at speed and rummaging through drawers in the living room. A minute or two later he reappeared in the bedroom, clutching a small cream bag. Scampering over and settling on the bed next to Billie, he flashed the younger man an exuberant grin before pulling out a black rectangular box. He shifted a little closer and opened the box towards his lover. The dim light hugged the curve of a platinum dog tag.  
  
"Um, I bought it when we got back from vacation, and I wanted to get it engraved, but I haven't really had the time," he explained. He took Billie's hand, closed the box and placed it in his palm. "I want you to do it. I'm gonna be going on tour in a couple days, so when I get back, you can give it back to me. With anything you want engraved on it. I mean, it's not a tattoo, but I won't be taking it off anytime soon. And I kind of…" he trailed off, gaze suddenly turning coy, the faintest colour rising in his cheeks. "I want people to know that I belong to someone."  
  
For such a small box, it felt huge in Billie's palm and he stared at his lover in surprise. There was also a deep shock of gleeful possessiveness in his midsection. This wasn't brand new. This wasn't something Lars had gone out today and gotten; it was something he'd already decided on, before they'd taken that merry trip to hell and back. In a way, it served as proof of everything he had said last night. Not that Billie had needed any more proof than the words and the kisses that had followed them but he appreciated it still – it was one more sign of both their certainty about each other.  
  
He clutched the box tightly. "This is…yeah, it's not a tattoo but you're not a tattoo person, Uli. I express myself through the ink on my skin. You…" he trailed off and reached for the drummer's ear, fingers sliding lightly over the hoops and then down to glide over the nipple ring concealed by the black fabric. Billie grinned. "You express yourself with metal."  
  
They both laughed and hazel eyes sparkled with mischief as he asked, "Anything I want, huh? What if I put, 'Property of Billie Joe Armstrong'? Or 'No. 1 Cocksucker'?" He giggled and held the box behind his back as Lars reached for it with an indignant grin. "Kidding, dude, kidding! About the engraving, anyway."  
  
Lips sought another pair and Billie pressed close to his lover, sinking everything into the movement of mouth and tongue. When at length he pulled away, body heavy and pliant with arousal, his voice came out ragged as he spoke. "I will think of something good and get it done while you're on tour. And when you get back, I'll put it on you and then hang onto the chain while you fuck me."  
  
He left Lars with that thought for a moment as he rose from the bed to place the box on the dresser so it didn't get crushed. Returning, he gazed down at the drummer, smile lighting his face at the splotch of red on one khaki-clad thigh. Billie's eyes flickered up to meet searing green and his hands went to his belt buckle. "Didn't you say something about wanting me naked?"  
  
"I seem to remember something like that," Lars replied, tilting his head back and arching an eyebrow. His body had been eased back into a dull buzz of pleasure by that kiss, and the images conjured by Billie's words. Now he was all kinds of ready to ditch the sentimentality and amp things up into the sensual aggression he'd been rising into before the tattoo had blindsided him. He grasped Billie's wrists, wickedness sliding back into his eyes. "But that's not a job for you."  
  
He pulled Billie forward until his palms hit the bed and lips collided with lips, something bristling up his back and sparking in his blood. Pressing forward, his hands reached to claw at Billie's sides, fingers dancing down to wrest open the belt buckle and loose black pants. The rough rhythm of the kiss was coloured with growls, moans and whines; teeth worried at lips, tastes exchanged and shared, and the drummer only slowed when he eased down those black pants and they pooled at his lover's feet. In fact, he broke away, breath laboured. "—the fuck?"  
  
A thong. A leopard-print fucking thong. And hell, he couldn't help but let out a rasped laugh. His eyes glittered. "Maybe I should get a stripper's pole in here, huh?" he drawled. He punctuated the interjection by pulling the waistband of the underwear and letting it snap back against flesh.  
  
Fingers teased at what little hidden skin there was left, one fingertip slipping down to rub over the younger man's pucker, and soon that last piece of clothing had been peeled off. Lars slid his hands up Billie's sides, holding his gaze with glittering dilated eyes as he leaned in to gently bite at his stomach. By now, the arousal was clear in both of them.  
  
"Spread yourself out for me, Billie," he murmured against smooth skin, sloping to his feet and patting the bed behind him.   
  
The heat in those green eyes coupled with his lover's amusement at the silly underwear to ease Billie's last fears. He couldn't quite picture himself gyrating around a stripper pole but that last part, yeah, he could do that. He looked at the bed, diffuse glow of light highlighting the sheets, and couldn't help comparing it to a spotlit stage.   
  
_Showtime._


	11. Chapter 11

A smirk curved full lips and Billie sent a coy glance at Lars before he lowered his body, knees and palms flattening as they took his weight and slowly, gracefully, he crawled into the centre of the enormous bed. Turning onto his back, he gazed up at the drummer, noting the heavy press of his erection against wine-stained pants and the wicked hunger in his expression, visible even over the small distance. Hunger for _him_.  
  
Little pieces jiggled into place in a brain growing hazy with desire; an instinctive understanding that giving up control wasn't the same as giving up power, because there was more than one kind of the latter. Billie had the power to feed that hunger and make Lars crazy with wanting – with need. In giving up the power to satisfy, he'd gained the ability to inflame.   
  
He stretched luxuriously, arms rising over his head as his spine arched and gleaming skin tautened over muscle and bone. When the small of his back touched the cool sheets again, Billie's thighs parted, knees turning out to the sides. Heavy-lidded hazels stared challengingly at his lover over the enduring smirk. "Is this bare enough for you?"  
  
Before Lars could answer he began to move, left hand sliding down his body to slip under his knee and pull his bent leg up to his chest. The position made his balls draw up tight and his cock bob gently. He knew it also left his asshole clearly visible. "How about this, is this better?"  
  
Thinking of the platinum tag in a box on the dresser, and the way the older man had literally led him to the bedroom with an improvised leash, Billie let his hand glide down the back of his thigh as it lowered, fingertips deliberately running between his ass cheeks then across to his hip as his pelvis twisted slightly. He wet his lips, tongue lingering over the plump flesh. Any hint of shame had long since dissolved in the mischievous desire to please and the baser need to truly lay himself bare for this man, trusting absolutely in the safety of doing that. Everything he offered was just that: an offer. Billie Joe wasn't obeying his lover's commands because he had to but because he wanted to. And because it turned him on so fucking much that this little display already had him breathing hard and the edges fuzzing away to nothingness. Only Lars and what Lars wanted mattered now.  
  
Still, he was who he was and his freshly-licked smirk deepened to near-insolence as, hips tilted in teasing readiness, he inquired throatily, "Or do you want me to roll over?"  
  
Lars mirrored the swipe of tongue over lips instinctively, tip of the tongue remaining visible as it slid back to be held between his teeth. He was thankful that he'd hooked his thumbs into his beltloops, pulling his pants down just enough to expose a sliver of tanned skin, because otherwise he may just have weakened and had his hand in his pants at that little display. His cock twitched in some kind of agreement, and after a moment or two of savouring silence the drummer sidled up to the bed, thighs brushing the mattress.  
  
"No, no, that's…" He seemed to trail off, eyes going hazy as they drifted over the stretched open, nude body before him, over the lines and curves, over tensed muscles and taut skin, over heaving chest and flushed features. "That's just _fine_."  
  
This nakedness, this most obvious kind of physical vulnerability spoke volumes for just how far their relationship had come in such a short time; certainly Billie had been naked before Lars before and vice versa, and both of them had been naked while the other had remained fully clothed, but this was far removed from that. This didn't have the same simplicity. Thanks to the previous night, this held not only importance but a marked increase in trust – Lars could tell just by looking at him that Billie had no nerves, no reservations. There was no hint of embarrassment, there was nothing but absolute trust and love. Lars hadn't failed to notice that, preceding the display the frontman had put on in the jacuzzi while they were on vacation, there had been a flicker or two of uncertainty in hazel eyes. Now it was gone, nothing to suggest it had even been there in the first place, and Billie had more than willingly opened himself up to the older man. Now, he lay waiting.  
  
Lars reached down and lifted his wine bottle to his lips, almost upending it as he poured a good quantity down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, set the bottle back down and crawled onto the bed. Billie's eyes glowed brighter at his approach, fire licking just beneath his skin and radiating from his gaze. The Dane settled between Billie's legs, bending to drag the tip of his tongue in a spiral pattern on the inside of the younger man's thigh. His eyes rose to meet hazel.  
  
"I think I'm gonna put my best asset to work, what do you say?"  
  
He then proceeded to do just that, that sinful muscle flitting over bare skin, gradually skating closer and closer to his lover's hardened cock until he began to dip back and flicker his tongue against the very tip of it, teasing dreadfully as his mouth continued to roam.  
  
 _How does he do that so goddamned_ fast _?_ Billie had thought it before, and surely would again, but right now his senses were on high alert and every rapid little flicker of the drummer's tongue licked need into his bloodstream. His hand had reversed its journey when Lars had approached the bed and he clutched convulsively at the back of his knee; his legs didn't spread any fucking wider. Every fucking inch of him lay exposed and vulnerable to those damnably teasing darts.  
  
Other hand fisted in the bedsheets, a moan burst from his throat as the firmed tip of that agile muscle prodded at his slit. Then sped away to his thigh to the accompaniment of a frustrated whimper. Half-jokingly, Billie teased, "I take it back. You can't be No. 1 if you don't suck co—ah—ahhhh!"  
  
Wet lips closed around him long enough for one gloriously strong pull and then they were gone as his hips bucked up into nothingness. "Mother _fucker_!"  
  
A darkly amused chuckle rumbled against his hipbone and a breathless giggle of his own escaped. Billie recognised the way everything had begun to have that underwater quality he associated with slipping into headspace but it didn't concern him; in fact, he welcomed it, because this time, unlike in the jacuzzi, there was no flipside to losing every last inhibition. He had no doubts and he knew in his bones that his lover wanted this every bit as much as he did. That his total pliancy aroused them both unbearably.  
  
As he slid further under with every minute that passed with those torturously delicate licks, Billie Joe realised dimly that he'd never been able to freely indulge this side of himself. Within his marriage, his wife certainly didn't hold him – or herself – back, but no matter how much she might control any particular experience he was always aware of her pleasure, always had some part of his focus split. It wasn't more of a give-and-take and it wasn't less of one, either; it was simply different. He'd grown to understand that his lover found tremendous pleasure in Billie's pleasure and here, now, Billie felt free to forget everything and just _feel_. To let Lars do whatever the fuck he wanted and absorb the sensation and then mirror it back in naked reaction.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut with a sharp cry as fingertips joined in tracing unpredictable paths over sensitive skin and abandoned any hope of coherent thought. Opening himself so utterly had spiked his arousal to unprecedented levels, for being all at once an expression of love and intimacy, and of commitment, and the embodiment of his most deeply held fantasies. It rose relentlessly to labour his breathing and fog his mind, choking off anything that wasn't directly relevant to this moment.  
  
"Lars," he whined, alerting the older man to how little it would take to send him over the edge…and that at the same time, he wouldn't be able to come until he was told.  
  
The grin that framed Lars's wayward tongue was unwipeable. Driving Billie crazy was about the most fun activity he could indulge in with his lover, eking out little drops – little _licks_ – of stimulation onto his skin, knowing his tongue for the formidably talented weapon it was. Adding barely there touches with his fingertips, and the drummer was drawing out this symphony of gasped breaths and cries and moans, of tensed muscles and trembling skin. When he focussed on Billie so very thoroughly, his own physical gratification became nothing more than a spot on the horizon, and every little reaction he caused from this marked body beneath him diffused pleasure into his bloodstream. Each of them meted out the enjoyment that the other sought, whether emotional or carnal or both.  
  
Heavy-lidded green eyes, hazed into a deeper smokiness, took in Billie's hand clutching tight at the sheets just as he moved to drag his tongue along the underside of his lover's cock. Laving the large vein nice and slow, he failed to see the reaction in Billie's face, but a tattooed fist whitened and another high-pitched cry burst from above, and that was really all the reaction he needed. His grin widened and he withdrew a little, stroking a knuckle along the inside of a spread thigh.  
  
"I'll have you know that I'm a greater cocksucker than any of the groupies I've been with," he said proudly. "Sometimes I wish I could suck myself off and really find out what all the fuss is about. I'd fuckin' challenge you to go out and find a guy who'd give you a better blowjob, but there'd be no contest in it." His voice gentled as he regarded Billie, wickedness in his eyes sliding into soft affection. "You're really close."  
  
A weak nod answered the statement, and Lars chuckled. _But you're not squirming enough yet._  
  
With that thought in mind, he smoothed his palm over Billie's thigh and closed his lips in a tight seal around the younger man's cockhead. Tongue flickering at the moist slit, he suckled at the swollen flesh and wrought a strangled yell from a wide mouth. Hips bucked up once, twice, and he squeezed Billie's leg in warning. _Not yet. Not yet. Little bit longer._  
  
His mouth descended for another single, slow pull, before he withdrew completely, settling back on his haunches. He groped back below him for his wine bottle, and as he lifted it, he heaved a pleased sigh. "Salty."  
  
He swigged the wine, set it back down and crawled up the bed to settle beside Billie, rubbing his stomach. "How you feeling?" he asked, dropping his lips to lavish attention over a damp throat, smug in the knowledge of what he had planned next.  
  
The question took a moment to process and then Billie blurted, "Fucking horny, how do you think?" A startled giggle followed the bald statement. He tipped his head back with a groan when the drummer's reply was the light scrape of teeth across his throat.  
  
Unclenching his fingers from their cotton deathgrip, he brought his hand in to play with the curling hair at the nape of his lover's neck, enjoying the ticklish feel. The palm on his stomach, the fact that he had asked in the first place; they brought a different kind of warmth to Billie. He urged Lars's head up, lifting his mouth appealingly to be taken in a kiss. Lightheaded as he was, he still knew how to kiss and though the older man might edge past him in the art of fellatio, nobody kissed like Billie Joe Armstrong. Besides, no matter who'd win that contest, Billie was the one who came out ahead.  
  
He answered a little more seriously. "Good. I feel," he paused to search for the words to express his thoughts. They eluded him and he shrugged, peripherally aware that the movement felt strange with his arm gluing his thigh to his chest. "Really good. And, yeah, close." Vague amusement glimmered in feverishly bright hazel eyes. "I don't have any control of my own left, Uli." _Only yours._  
  
Billie pressed tiny kisses to the smooth-shaven jawline, nudging Lars to turn his head so he could get at the multi-pierced ear and suck on skin and metal, a taste that had grown addictive. It also allowed him to murmur dirty things directly to his lover. "So what do you need to let me come, huh? Want me to say please?" His voice dropped into a sensual purr. "I know how you love to hear me beg for it."  
  
A low, filthy chuckle brushed against Billie's unadorned ear in reply, reciprocating his action with the graze of teeth over the curve of his earlobe. "That'd be nice," Lars drawled. "You are really good at it, after all, and I'd hate to deprive you of the opportunity to exercise one of your many talents."  
  
The hand at the frontman's stomach slid lower, nails skritching into dark curls of hair, and he moved his head to meet hazel with green. "Yeah, I need you to say please. I need you to beg, I need you to whine and I need you to squirm." He nudged his nose against Billie's, speaking with gravity against full lips before claiming them in a slow kiss. "I need you to lose yourself for me."  
  
When the kiss ended, sweat and wine and Billie all mingling together in his mouth, he brushed his palm over his lover's neglected cock, causing another buck of hips and choked off sound. He beamed and slithered back down the nude form, tasting as he went, and on reaching the arch of a hip his eyes settled on the small number tattoo there. It hadn't meant a thing to him the last time he'd really noticed it all those years ago, and since then Billie hadn't explained what it meant, but Lars wasn't a moron. He also had quite the imp of the perverse riding on his shoulder. He traced a fingertip over each number, grinning at the quizzicality flitting through bright hazel eyes. Then he sank down and set his teeth into the skin beneath the ink, biting down hard enough for that delicious jerk of pain and the knowledge that dark purple bruises in the shape of teeth would appear soon.  
  
He smirked and traced his finger over the growing redness. "That one's not for you."  
  
He continued down Billie's body, lying on his stomach between the younger man's legs. One last knowing grin, and his tongue flicked out to encircle the head of Billie's cock again, making a trail down the underside, swirling patterns over his balls and pressing the tip hard against the perineum as he continued to descend. His eyes only rose to drink in reaction when that tip began to encircle his lover's entrance.  
  
The candid reply to his teasing took Billie by surprise but he thought with a little grin that they were reasonable requests, all things considered. He was almost there already, and promptly forgot about it anyway when teeth dug into him, hearing an echo of his wife telling him what kind of souvenir she wanted: _How about a nice, deep bitemark around my tattoo?_ Something about the interactive nature of it, of knowing that Adrienne would inspect every mark on his body and take especial delight in that one, of knowing that Lars had done it for that very reason though Billie had never repeated the request, completely blew his fucking mind.  
  
Time stopped – _thought_ stopped – when the drummer's mouth reached his cock and he cried out, breath speeding into shallow pants that were anything but silent. He needed just a little more contact, only a little more stimulation, needed—  
  
That. Oh fuck, _that_. Wet circles painted on his most sensitive skin had him arching right off the mattress, arm flexing to pull his leg to the side to stay open and oh, he was gonna pay for this tomorrow but Billie didn't care as he strained to get closer, get more, calling out in a strangled moan. "Lars!"  
  
He'd wondered what this would be like with the older man but the reality destroyed his vague speculation. Billie hadn't been on the receiving end of a rim job for a good decade or more; too intimate for most of his casual partners, and Mike hadn't wanted to try. To feel it now, as worked up as he was, from the owner of that tongue…he didn't stand a chance.  
  
The delicate licks sensitised his pucker in rapid degrees until each light pass had him gasping for air and his voice sputtered to shaky life, each word infused with pure need. "Please oh please oh _fuck_ Uli please please pleasepleaseplease…"  
  
The very tip of Lars's tongue pressed inside him and the frontman screamed his name, so high-pitched it was virtually unrecognisable. His outstretched leg crooked to dig his toes into his lover's side, still straining for more, closer, deeper. His breathing became a cacophony of whines punctuated with needy moans as his free hand clawed at the bedsheets, sensation dazzling his overloaded body. Wet, wide open lips tried to form more pleas and failed, capable only of wordless sound as the delicious torture continued.  
  
Hearing, seeing and feeling Billie fall apart, _literally_ disintegrate slowly but surely on his bed surged through Lars with a power beyond any physical stimulation. It was white and searing and indescribable, and it spiked his arousal so sharply he actually had to pause for a second or two, breath shuddering hot against the other man's so sensitive flesh. Once he'd regained some control – and fisted one of his own hands into the bedsheets to keep it from straying down – he shifted a little to get more comfortable and laid a hand on the underside of Billie's straining thigh.  
  
The sounds. Jesus fucking Christ, the _sounds_ his lover was making, pouring over him in a glorious rain. Moans and gasps and cries and whines, heavy breathing and almost words and his name, need and desperation and desire filling everything and wrapping it in a dizzying heat. Billie was being pushed so far past anything he could articulate, perhaps even comprehend, reduced to nothing but the most reflexive verbal and physical reactions. And still Lars pushed.  
  
 _Mine,_ the drummer thought fiercely with another rush deep inside. _My boy, my man, my lover, no other guy gets to do this to you, and there's nothing that can take you away from me. Mine._   
  
With that, he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the sensations, everything provided by the rest of his senses. He flexed his tongue, tensing and relaxing it still just inside Billie, and slowly, so fucking torturously slowly he began to push the terrible weapon deeper. Then came the lazy push and withdraw, push and withdraw, gradually picking up speed until his tongue was fucking fast and deep into his lover, and Billie didn't even sound like Billie anymore. _That_ was losing yourself. _That_ was what Lars needed.  
  
Drumstick callused hands reached out, one rubbing fingertips at the base of an overheated erection, the other blindly grasping for a tensed, shaking fist. Working his fingers into the clenched hand, he gave it a hard squeeze, letting his lover know.  
  
 _Now, Billie._  
  
Billie stopped breathing for a second at the light touch on his cock, already way, way past any normal stamina level from the wet flex and push inside him, and then his hand was forced to accept the grasp of another in a gesture he instinctively understood and he was gone, balls tightening and releasing in a hot gush that burned a path through him and exited his blazing body with an ear-splitting shriek of ecstasy. His muscles contracted and relaxed seemingly at random as pleasure shuddered all along his nervous system, lasting far longer than the simple release of fluid. He could feel Lars's tongue in him still, teasing out the last bits of sensation, drawing it out as long as possible as his ass muscles squeezed convulsively at the lingering caress.  
  
His head lolled to the side as his orgasm began to fade. Long lashes rested against flushed cheeks, open mouth gulping in air. Billie felt his lover withdraw and move up beside him and those lashes fluttered open to reveal dazed eyes. He licked his lips and whispered, "Leg, can't…" A relieved sigh drifted forth when Lars understood and unhooked his arm from around his knee, letting his leg down to the accompaniment of a groan.  
  
One hand reached fretfully for the drummer, needing him closer and unable to articulate it. He didn't quite make it all the way to Lars's body, even as near as he lay, too weak to extend his arm that far. His brow creased in a small frown and full lips pouted slightly at the lack of ability. Billie gazed at his lover intently and tried to communicate that way, naked vulnerability shining from hazel eyes along with the need for contact and comfort – for re-grounding after having been taken on that magnificent flight.  
  
Lars blinked, then gave a soft chuckle, mouth quirking up into an affectionate smirk. He reached up to push a lock of hair from Billie's eyes, then shifted and pulled the small but leaden body into his chest, arms curling around him protectively. He pressed a kiss into the thick shock of hair before murmuring, "You've never sounded like that before. It was so good."  
  
A bright glow had settled in Lars's chest, heating him, enticing a smile from his lips. Not just at the smugness – no, the pride at being able to draw sounds and cries like that from Billie, but at the younger man reaching for him, needing him close to put him back together. Not that he doubted anymore that Billie needed him, but having him reach for him, weak and in pieces, was intensely gratifying. Arousal continued to swirl indolently through his blood, vaguely heightened skin sensitivity and a half-hard cock the only indications he was aroused at all. It was a wonderful feeling, especially coupled with the press of a sweat sheened, nude body against him, legs tangled and arms encircling.  
  
He rubbed a thumb along his lover's smooth jawline. "Don't go passing out on me, babe, okay? Stay with me." He snorted quietly in amusement at himself. "'Babe'? Fuck, let me rephrase that." Tipping Billie's head up to look into still overcome eyes, the Dane slipped back into his native language before smiling. " _Min skat_."  
  
Light little kisses were dropped onto the frontman's forehead, his cheeks, his lips, efforts to soothe and to keep on this planet in one. Fondness glittered in green eyes, love mingling in his gaze too; and despite his secrecy with those three little words – the time for them would present itself soon enough, he'd decided – he didn't bother hiding it and didn't really think that Billie would be consciously aware enough for it to register. Either way, right then he couldn't care less. One arm withdrew to skate fingertips over that fresh tattoo, his tattoo. He smiled again.  
  
"M'here," Billie protested, though in truth there was a part of him that did want to just pass the fuck out. But the sweet little kisses and the soothing body warmth kept his attention, as did his growing awareness of the semi-hard flesh pressed against him. The fingertips dragging across freshly inked skin helped, too, enough so that he managed a full, slightly coy smile. "You did say, 'again and again and again,' so I'm guessing you're not done with me yet."   
  
_Min skat._ Sweetheart. He'd looked it up after the first time the unfamiliar phrase had fallen from his lover's lips on vacation. Then, he had attributed it to the drummer's highly aroused state, seeing as he'd spoken it only a few minutes before he'd panicked and called a full stop. But now?   
  
Now, it felt like a true endearment, and that impression was only reinforced by it being in Lars's mother tongue. Like with his swearing, he slipped into Danish when his emotions ran high and for him to give Billie a pet name in his native language said a great deal about the strength of his feelings. Somewhere in his midsection, the frontman recognised what he was seeing in expressive green eyes but on the surface, all he could comprehend was that it was warm and good and he liked it. That was more than enough for the moment.  
  
A contented little hum emerged as he followed his lover's mouth and latched on for a real kiss, not particularly caring about its recent whereabouts. Billie had showered before coming over here after all. He took unadulterated enjoyment in the slow movement of lips and tongues, Lars establishing a rhythm that he was perfectly happy to follow even as the kiss deepened and grew more aggressive until his humming ended in a soft moan and his cock twitched.  
  
He broke away with a giggle. "Mmm, I think some part of my brain decided you needed the jailbait experience because my body sure as fuck thinks I'm seventeen tonight. It's fucking ridiculous." Hazel eyes rimmed in smeared black fluttered lashes at the drummer and he snaked a hand down to one clothed hip and squeezed. "So, Uli. Are you gonna fuck me?"  
  
"Of course," Lars replied with a smirk, thumb rubbing away some of the messy eyeliner, body appreciating and responding to the little hip squeeze and the slow-to-rough kiss. He lowered his head to give a little nip under Billie's chin before untangling himself and sliding off the bed to his feet. Some sternness leaked into his voice. "You take your fuckin' time, though, I don't want anything but your best tonight."  
  
He reached down and picked up both wine bottles, handing Billie his then taking a long pull from his own. Noticing a small spatter of come on the back of his hand, he licked it off and continued to drink. Replaying his lover's slow disintegration in his head, he grinned smugly. "That was quite a scream, too. I'd say that was definitely one of your best."  
  
Turning and setting the bottle down again, he peeled his muscle shirt off and dropped it to the floor, stretching a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the cord from his bathrobe curled by the door. Well, shit, he'd forgotten all about that. He glanced back to Billie, gaze lingering at the constriction of his throat as he drank his wine, then back to the cord. _Fuck it._ Stained pants dropped to the floor, only his boxers remaining, and the cord was hidden behind his back at he returned to the bed, to a seductive hazel gaze. Crawling forward until he loomed over his lover on hand and knees, he took his bottle and reached over to set it on the floor. On returning, he bent, that hand moving to settle on a tattooed chest, fingernails digging in ever so slightly. His voice emerged in a low growl.  
  
"You want me to fuck you?" Burning green eyes narrowed, some dark fire sparking off behind them. "You want it good and hard? You want to _hurt_?" At that last word, he dug his nails in harder, ensuring one of them pressed into his thundercloud. Billie let out a hiss of pain, and Lars smirked cruelly. He raised himself up onto his knees, revealing the cord and snapping it taut as if it would give the satisfying crack of leather. Carefully he gauged Billie's reaction, searching and finding no immediately obvious indication that he wasn't okay with this. His head tilted, voice lilting in unconvincing innocence. "I'd better keep you still somehow, then."  
  
With that he bent again, lips setting upon lips for a hungry, savage kiss as a hand skimmed down to reawaken his lover's softened cock.  
  
That heavy cloud of desire, the same one that had blanketed Billie upon setting foot in the house, rose instantly at the sudden force in his lover. His body was a little slower to respond, of course, but the fingers wrapped around his cock weren't taking no for an answer and gradually he grew erect under the demanding strokes of fist and tongue as Lars continued to devour his mouth. They both tasted like wine; Billie had been handed his drink and then had it taken away like a child, a fact that both amused him and touched some darker corner in his mind.  
  
Not knowing what his expression might have said other than startlement, he pulled back enough to whisper, "Yes. Fuck, _yes_. Only, not the tattoo, okay? I don't want to irritate the skin too much – want it to heal nice and pretty." He gave a languid, sultry smile when Lars growled agreement.  
  
Had he fully emerged from the dizzyingly arousing tunnel vision of headspace, Billie might have worried about how much he wanted this, or felt some caution beyond not disturbing the fresh ink. As it was, he'd remained well under during his short recovery period, having been spun much too far for his brain to swim back to its usual state in that amount of time. Any inhibitions had been obliterated and he thrust shamelessly into Lars's hand as he voiced his real desire in a throaty entreaty.  
  
"Hold me down and fuck me _raw_."  
  
Lars laughed, an inherently ominous sound, claiming another devastating kiss before grasping Billie's wrists and pulling him closer to the headboard. Strengthened by growing aggression and the knowledge of what lay ahead, his lover's body slid up the covers with an ease that belied his weight. Working with feverish speed, stomach doing backflips at his own actions, he looped one end of the cord around Billie's crossed wrists and the other around one of the iron bars that made up his headboard, tying them each tight enough. He took care to leave a length of cord between the two, knowing from personal experience the occasional need for manoeuvrability. His mouth skimmed along a forearm, a bicep as he descended again.  
  
This was going to be brand fucking new, yet another experience rushing up to meet them. Lars wasn't completely sure what possessed him to bring restraint into the equation – on pulling the cord from his bathrobe, the word hadn't entered his head, but that was what it was – the scant few times that he'd experienced it, he'd enjoyed it in a begrudging sort of way. The hyperactive side of him hadn't taken too kindly to being held still, but the pleasure he'd found after letting himself go had been incredible. He hoped Billie would feel the same pleasure without the preceding indignance; by the look on the younger man's face, he seemed to be going the right way about it.  
  
Being on the other side of the coin, being the restrainer…brand fucking new. Those two or three butterflies that had danced in his stomach at the beginning of the night had returned, for sure.  
  
Reaching across, he tugged open the drawer in his bedside cabinet and pulled out that vital little tube, lips craving lips and moving to take them, addicted to the taste and the rhythm. He exhaled with a hiss and a profanity and continued his retreat, scuttling down over skin stretched taut until he was back between open legs. He raised himself up once more to take in his handiwork.  
  
"Fuck," he breathed, for a long few moments doing nothing more than taking the sight in, pure awe and desire painted on his face. He elaborated on that breath inwardly. _Fuck, did_ I _ever look this good?_ Reaching to smooth a palm up Billie's leg, his other hand deftly twisted the cap off the lubricant and squeezed out a blob onto his fingers. He bent to nip at the bare flesh, rasping against it. "You okay?"  
  
"Am I okay?" Billie echoed. A smile spread over his face, deliciously naughty. He'd been pinned before – had his wrists held down by Adrienne's small fists or been told to keep his hands where they'd been placed – but to be actively, physically restrained so that he was literally unable to get free, that was new. He tugged at the cord, testing its strength, and when it became clear that he wasn't going anywhere without help his cock twitched visibly.  
  
He arched a little, enhancing the stretched-out effect, and spread his legs wider, smirk appearing on a swollen mouth at the resultant sparks in green eyes. "Yeah, I'm fucking okay. You have no idea how long I've wanted to do something like this."  
  
Since before he'd even lost his virginity; since he'd first learned that it was an option. Billie had fantasy upon dark fantasy that involved restraint of some kind and to feel that cord wrapped around his bones served as an intense kind of foreplay as it connected with all those swirling, forbidden thoughts. He tugged again, harder this time. The cord bit into his flesh and he whined. A moment later hazel met hungry green. "Do it, Uli. Do whatever you want. I'm _yours_ and I can fucking take it."  
  
Something akin to relief flooded into Lars's body, setting off another wave of desire. Without another word, not allowing himself a flicker of anything more for now, he smeared the blob over his fingers and pressed two of them against Billie's asshole, rubbing over the semi-prepared ring of muscle a few times before pushing in, sinking right to the knuckles. Billie's body jerked, tensing at the sudden invasion, and something unfurled in Lars's stomach, dark and fiery all at once. Some memory leaked into his consciousness and for a brief moment the phantom tang of blood found his tongue. He shivered.  
  
Flattening himself over the open body before him, he sought to bruise those reddened lips while terrible fingers twisted and curled, creating shocks of pleasure that made his lover spasm, wrists going white as they strained against the cord. The drummer only pulled away for a heartbeat, long enough to give a breathless, one-word assertion. " _Mine_."  
  
Those fingers abruptly withdrew, hands fumbling to push down and cast away his boxers, then back to tease at the younger man's cock. The touches weren't quite enough, there to frustrate and not to satisfy, then were gone completely to claw at a slim waist. His attention skittered everywhere, needing everything at once, needing to absorb it all _now_. His breathing shuddered when he finally withdrew, eyes positively ablaze and body craving tight heat.  
  
"Turn over."  
  
Hazel eyes blinked open, glazed in rapture. Billie was a live wire now; electricity coursed hotly through his bloodstream at his lover's assault, so strong that all the fine hairs on his body stood up. Upon hearing Lars's command, though, a slight frown creased his brow. _Turn over? How the fuck am I supposed to do that with no hands?_  
  
He looked at the drummer kneeling at the far end of the bed, all but glowing with savage lust, and a small whimper escaped. However he managed it, Billie was on his own for this. That ravenous expression told him he'd better figure it out fucking fast.  
  
Head tilting back to try to see the headboard, he noticed there was a fair bit of play in the cord between its two anchors. He wriggled closer with his hands outstretched to grab the iron bars. In slow, awkward degrees Billie flipped onto his stomach. When he let go of the bars, he promptly discovered that while there might have been some manoeuvrability in between the knots, with the way that his wrists were bound, he couldn't really support himself on his elbows like he normally would. Not that he and Lars often had sex this way – not when they had a bed available, anyway – because a big part of his lover's enjoyment was watching his face. But Lars had already seen him fly apart tonight. This was about something different. This was pure domination. This was ownership.  
  
His breath hitched as he realised just how helpless he felt like this: tied to the bed with his cheek pressed to the mattress. Still moving somewhat awkwardly Billie slipped down towards the foot of the bed a bit so he wasn't in imminent danger of smacking into the wrought iron. He inhaled deeply, trying to clear his head a little, but gave up almost immediately. Billie Joe was dizzy, flushed with arousal, stomach quivering when he thought about how he was supposed to finish this – how he should be positioned. Heat throbbed in his veins as his legs drew up underneath him and then his thighs straightened, knees spreading wide to leave him fully exposed. His ass raised high in the air over the long curve of his spine, his body shining with sweat and an extra gleam beckoning from his slicked pucker; his hands visible over the dark mass of hair with wine-dark cord securing them tightly.  
  
Presented, opened, and ready to be taken.  
  
Lars's harsh breathing stopped, catching in his throat at the new sight, this new position. Inherently filthy, wanton, stretched wide open and arching for him, just for him. His bed the platter, and a glistening, lithe body the meal waiting, wanting to be slowly devoured. But there was something else, something he hadn't previously known of in this sight. A dozen or so raised red lines scoring down the length of Billie's back, stark and urgent.  
  
His face flushed at the thought of what had created those marks, of who. Long painted nails dragging a path down smooth, pristine flesh, abrading, _damaging_ … Images flickered into his mind, heartbeat flashes of what must have transpired last night after he left. Long painted nails…  
  
His cock _twitched_.  
  
That held breath left Lars in a hiss as he folded himself over his lover, mouth falling and raining vicious bites down those lines, following them like trails, making damn sure that each would leave a significant mark. Teeth savaged skin, spilling blood and triggering cries, decorating Billie's back with purple smudges and dark red trickles. The body bucked beneath him as his mouth assaulted; he sought to overwhelm, rough palm wrapping around the younger man's cock. Bloodlust rushed hot and consuming in his veins, making him shake, colouring his vision. It told him to enclose every single line Adrienne had made with his own marks. With his own seals. A mural of possession streaking across his lover's back.  
  
With that thought in mind, he continued to bite, continued to follow. He wouldn't let up until every red scratch had been beautifully framed.  
  
A soft moan leaked out of Billie as his lover bent over him and then Lars's teeth were on him, tearing down his back in a dotted line only to repeat the action an inch or so to one side. Billie panted heavily as the pain rose up to slap him, swamp him, send him spinning out of control. He started to struggle, obeying the blind instinct to remove his body from the source of agony, but with each hard yank on his bindings, his movements just this side of frantic, that cord bit into his flesh in a gentler echo of the drummer's savagery and the constant reminder that he was restrained, that he had been tied here for Lars's pleasure, sent shimmering bolts of desire straight to his cock. When callused fingers wrapped tightly around his erection and began to pump lazily, Billie was lost.  
  
The pattern his lover was following did finally make an impression on his consciousness and he whimpered as it grew clear that instead of destroying the existing scratches left by his wife, Lars was using his teeth to complement them, honouring their right to be present on his body, too.  
  
Billie didn't reach this conclusion in words, exactly; his brain was far too disconnected from reality to comprehend anything of that magnitude. But his body recognised the truth on a primal level and pain, pleasure, memory, love, all coalesced and ceased to have any distinction as the drummer completed his design. One last, especially vicious bite near his tailbone had Billie's hips lifting to meet that deadly mouth instead of flinching away.  
  
He'd thought that he'd been pushed almost too far a short while ago but now, now his concept of endurance was being redefined completely and he had no idea where the boundaries lay. He found one as Lars withdrew and Billie lost that vital physical connection, feeling only the throb of his heartbeat in dozens of bitemarks across his back and the burning tickle of rivulets of liquid dripping down hypersensitive skin that shocked cold without his lover.  
  
"Nnnn… Neeee…" he slurred, frustrated at how impossible it was to speak. _Need you closer, need you touching me, need you inside me, need you need you need you._ His spine bowed and his knees spread a little more in clear invitation as he managed one word, voice rising sharply into an urgent whine. " _Lars_!"  
  
Green eyes glowed bright and sharp, radiating in the poor light, and the ghoulish smear of darkness over Lars's mouth served as glaring contrast, even to tanned skin. His tongue emerged to swipe over bloodied lips, curling the corners into a sinful smile. He had truly marked Billie now.  
  
In one viciously hard thump of his heart, the drummer realised that he hadn't had sex this intense in a long, long time. The only time in the last five or six years that it had had something even approaching this intensity was…was…  
  
Dingy motel room. Starchy sheets. And piercing hazel eyes.  
  
Billie's desperate, single word plea reached his ears. A long, high cry that formed his name, and it had barely tailed off into nothingness when Lars thrust into him, sinking balls-deep with a single hard push. Twin indefinable noises burst into the heavy air, clawing to the ceiling and spreading out. The older man let it rain over him, let it soak in for a long few moments, the sudden sensation of that dark warmth he'd buried into hitting him with jarring force. As his head rocked back, he became incredibly aware of a single trickle of still warm blood that tracked a path down his throat. It bobbed with his Adam's apple when he swallowed, everything seeming stilled.  
  
Then his hips were moving, slow, deliberate, hard pushes into his lover, each thrust defined by its lack of speed. Moans spilled from his open mouth, a clear indication that he had relinquished the grip on his self-control, allowing himself to be lost to his pleasure. His eyes fell to that decorated back, shaking under his movement, wounds shining darkly. He folded himself down, breath puffing ragged over a straining shoulder and warm wetness rubbing against his chest. So, so dirty, so erotic, so sordid, it electrified his now prevalent dominant side and set him alight. Billie's blood scorched his skin and his mind.  
  
Fingers digging into the younger man's sides, his eyes slid shut as he maintained the measured, rolling thrusts, the pit of his stomach beginning to burn. "Ohh…fuck…"  
  
Wild, open-mouthed cries greeted each of the drummer's thrusts – wordless, because Billie had forgotten speech and language, existing solely in the sensation that battered him from all sides. He rocked back and forth in opposing unison with his lover, hips crashing against hips. Muscles liquid even in hard flex from everything that had happened.  
  
Moisture trickled from tightly-closed eyes in a purely physical reaction and it made him more aware of the wet slip-slide of the older man's chest. The rhythmic movement stirred up scent and it rose, sharp and sweet. Coppery. Metallic.   
  
_'You express yourself with metal.'_  
  
There and gone in a heartbeat but the platinum gleam of a dog tag remained in his head, a symbol that would be etched as his own skin had been, twice over today. The image made Billie Joe strain harder against the body covering him. He'd slipped down the bed in his struggles and now there was no slack left in the cord tethering his wrists to the headboard; instead, his arms stretched far above sweat-plastered black locks in absolute surrender, held there as implacably as callused hands held his body in place to be fucked.  
  
The measured pace became much too slow for Billie but he could do nothing about it, not even plead. He no longer had access to anything beyond feeling. His hips bucked a little harder and his throaty, ragged sounds grew a little louder and that was it. He had become a receptacle for whatever Lars chose to give him, and right now, that was the endless stream of low moans from his lover and whatever motion gave the older man the most pleasure as his cock slid in and out of Billie's ass.  
  
The sounds coming from Lars rose in pitch as Billie's hips began to rock up to meet his, achieving a peculiar, chance resonance as they entwined with those spiralling from the younger man's mouth. They buzzed in his ears, matching the electric tingling that wracked his damp skin and made him incredibly aware of everything that touched him. He felt shoulder muscles tense and strain under his cheek, not consciously aware that Billie was being stretched out to the breaking point both physically and, judging by the indescribable cries pouring from him, mentally. He wasn't consciously aware of much by now, the press of his lover's body and the burn of his blood snatching away most of his thoughts. One of the scant few that remained shimmered in and out of his mind almost in time with his languid pushes. It was a memory.  
  
 _I feel okay about-about giving over to you. I trust you with that. With me._  
  
One clawing hand moved jerkily across to flatten over Billie's stomach. The drummer's moans rose a little higher.  
  
Suddenly, so fucking suddenly that it seemed to rush up into him out of nowhere, his arousal spiked painfully sharply, over and over with ascending force. The edges of his mind broke away, and it seemed as though any remaining dregs of self-control had utterly abandoned him and perhaps he'd underestimated the power that Billie's strung-out pleasure held over him, because then— _ah! ahh!_ A long, thin wail streamed from his open mouth, and he was there, right fucking _there_ , coming hard with hips thudding fast into his lover's ass.  
  
His whole body heated up and he was given no chance to wrap his hand around Billie's neglected erection and give him his release as he'd planned, mind careening off its rails and plunging him into a bliss that lost the world.  
  
That wail and the accompanying burst of speed would have been enough to send Billie tumbling with his lover…if he had received some signal that it was allowed. He hadn't. If anything, the palm pressed to his stomach indicated that he should continue to wait, and then it fell away as Lars slumped over him, his hips stilling. Somewhere in his brain he recognised that the drummer had come, adding yet another warm trickle of liquid over his skin as the erection inside him began to soften.  
  
Billie's fierce cries turned to whimpers interspersed with wet hiccoughs as the sudden lack of stimulation frayed the outer edges of his little bubble. The pressure on his bitemarks from his lover's dead weight bearing down on him, the strain on his arms and shoulders from his too-stretched position, the ache of need in his cock – each contributed to an overwhelming whole that Lars was no longer distracting him from with teasing pleasure. The vague beginnings of real pain skimmed over Billie and the tears weren't false now. Black lines tracked over his nose and down the lower part of his face to add their stain to the sheets.  
  
He started to tremble, shivers growing in intensity until he shook like he was bare-assed in a Minnesota winter, and the resultant friction from his lover's chest against his back sparked nerve endings too strongly for him to put a name to the sensation or to bear it. Speechless yet, unable to truly communicate or even comprehend what was happening, Billie opened his mouth wide and screamed. A single note of raw agony spun through the room in a terrified explosion of sound.  
  
A debilitating fog had swallowed Lars up, so caught off guard as he'd been by his sudden, powerful orgasm. It had blown him away and left something that, on the surface, could be called Lars Ulrich, but the man inside had been struck numb. He gradually, in slow motion so it seemed, became aware of a sound off in the distance, a muffled hum that grew closer, louder, clearer.  
  
Abruptly it crashed down onto his consciousness, yanking him from his torpor as he became aware of what it was. Who it was.  
  
A fucking scream, and it was coming from Billie.  
  
"Fuck," he cursed in a voice too harsh to be his own, regaining the use of his muscles and forcing them to work. The pure distress in Billie's voice, so piercing and clear and carving through his mind like a sliver of ice, served as an adrenalin shot to his spent body. Orgasm still pulsing weakly through him and mind not quite slotted back into place, he was momentarily at a loss for what to do. The scream echoed out into nothing, into silence. Then breathless, wet whines began to rise from the man below him. Lars rose up, peeling himself from Billie's wounded back and looking down. "Billie?" Worry, almost fear coloured his voice.  
  
Drumstick callused palms cupped a bruised hipbone and rested just underneath a fresh tattoo, and the older man used that adrenalin to ease Billie back up the bed, just enough to ease any painful strain. Inked, sweat slicked arms remained pulled above his lover's head, but now they sagged a little. The hand at Billie's hip strayed down to brush over the top of his thigh, and he bent again, careful not to press too heavily. He did so to get close to Billie's ear.  
  
"Billie? Listen to me, okay? Breathe for me," he whispered. "Breathe deep for me, concentrate on where it hurts…" His ghosting fingers wrapped around the younger man's heavy cock and his hips began to move again, still seated inside Billie. A faint growl leaked into his voice. "And let go."  
  
 _Learning,_ he told himself firmly, temporarily silencing the voice cursing him for his fuck up in the back of his mind. _We're both still learning._  
  
Billie Joe breathed. The sense of Lars's instructions penetrated more from his tone and the sound of his example than from his words, but Billie understood him in any case and the soft growl as his lover's hand and hips established a rhythm had him choking out a moan. His immediate distress had been alleviated by the triplicate easing of the pressure placed on his body and the abrupt return of pleasure to the equation made Billie jerk in need, sensation ballooning rapidly to overwhelm and smother him as, with a strident cry, he finally found release. It rolled over and through him, Lars stroking his cock until he'd been utterly drained and he flinched, the friction too much now.  
  
A wet squelch accompanied the drummer's withdrawal and then gentle hands smoothed over Billie, supporting his stomach while his knees were slid down and his legs straightened. Cursing followed the fumbling at his wrists, the cord rubbing against abraded skin a few times before the knots were loosened enough to free him. Weak as he was, instinct was stronger and Billie drew his arms in to his body under his own power, elbows bent close to his sides. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed in profound relief.  
  
He didn't care that he'd just been laid down right over the wet spot on the sheets – he was a fucking head-to-toe mess, anyway. Two of his problems had been taken care of, and orgasm had slipped a film over the third, distancing it a little bit. He scratched his nose, grimacing when his fingertips came away black. So much for messy eyeliner looking 'sinful'. How about 'fucking ridiculous' instead?  
  
Wanting to see Lars, Billie raised his torso slightly and twisted in the drummer's direction. He flattened again with a startled hiss of pain and speech returned in a perhaps predictable form. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck." He groped blindly for his lover, comforted when his hand was taken. Then he heard Lars mention going to get something; Billie's mind wasn't functioning well enough to catch the whole utterance. He zeroed in on 'going' and struggled onto his side, panic coating him and providing the impetus to reach for more words. His voice was breathless and hoarse, unusually grating even at a low volume.  
  
"No no no, you can't, you can't leave me alone, not again. Please, Uli," he begged, memory rising of how lost he'd felt after what had happened in the jacuzzi. Here, tonight, he'd gone so far beyond that, been stripped down to the most basic level and was still bare, still so very fucking vulnerable. His nails dug into the back of Lars's hand; he lacked the strength to hang on any tighter, or to pull his lover closer. Wide eyes shone with fear over trembling lips that were dry and chapped from his open-mouthed breathing. What Billie needed more than anything in that moment was simply to be held by the man he loved, and he didn't know how to say that.  
  
Lars's mouth moved, but words were not forthcoming. Those black smeared hazel eyes invaded him, and green shimmered back, the shock clear in them. Not for the first time, the need striking out from Billie hit him in the chest with the force of a boulder. Halfway towards sliding out of the bed to fetch the first aid kit, he hesitated for a moment purely from the surprise – _Alone? Again?_ – then pulled himself back into his lover. One hand came up to brush a thumb along Billie's jaw, the other gingerly settling at his side before sliding around to the unmarked area of the small of his back. He shifted himself closer, careful not to disturb the younger man's no doubt aching form any further. He couldn't care less about the state of the bed, or himself, or anything – the ripples of guilt at the way his body had refused to follow his plan had increased, and now they had been covered by intense concern for his boyfriend.  
  
The throb of Billie's heated blood reached his skin and in turn Lars's fingers, and the drummer could almost feel the transmission of flickers and pulses of pain around a battered body. He swallowed against a slightly constricted throat. _I'm not going anywhere._  
  
He didn't know what to _do_. Fuck, maybe he should've read up on this or something, maybe he shouldn't have brought that damn cord into their play. It had been ridiculous, downright stupid to assume they could wing their way through this. New experiences were one thing, and succeeding in getting your lover to lose himself entirely and giving new meaning to the term boundaries were two more; but what the fuck happened after that? How do you bring someone back after hurling him into some hellish kind of bliss?  
  
Instinct was all he had to rely on, so he touched his forehead to Billie's, firing reassurance into him as best he could with those expressive green eyes. His lips raised to graze another pair, cracked and sore looking, in a barely there kiss. For once, he never said a word.  
  
Billie kissed back harder, the minor abrasions on his lips going unnoticed in the general haze of wakening pain. Heedless of it, he tugged at the drummer insistently until they lay pressed tightly together, Billie's leg flung over Lars's. That calmed his breathing and his fear. When the need for air became paramount he broke away and nuzzled into his lover's neck, dropping sloppy kisses on the sweaty skin.  
  
"I just need to touch you," he muttered as his fingers skimmed along any part he could easily reach. The reassurance Lars was trying so damn hard to project began to sink in and the panic shadow dissipated.  
  
As Billie's mind gradually cleared, pain crept further and further into his awareness and finally he tilted his head back to look at Lars. "I'm not…all there yet, but I think I need you to take care of my back." His eyes flicked down to his torso, knowing he was totally filthy by now though he couldn't see it for the older man's body warming his. "Maybe a shower? Could you – do you think that would work okay? I might need some help staying upright but I really, I'd like to get clean."  
  
He leaned his forehead against his lover's, the small movement pulling on a scabbing bitemark over a muscle, and he grimaced. "And, yeah, I think I'm gonna need some painkillers, Uli. I," Billie paused, his eyes closing for a second as he evaluated the state of his body. A tiny smile upturned the corners of his mouth. "Fuck, yeah, it's really starting to hurt."  
  
Lars nodded, reflecting that tiny smile. It faded quickly, still far too worried for his boy for it to hold. He gave another gentle kiss, insistent in his own way that he not cause or reopen any more wounds. The tang of blood hit his tongue, and he pulled back to see flecks of it on Billie's bottom lip – it must have split when Billie had returned the last kiss with more force. Unconsciously, he licked at his own lips.  
  
He grasped both of Billie's hands and sat up, letting the younger man right himself before helping him off the bed, pulling his tattooed arm around his waist and draping his own arm over rounded shoulders. Once satisfied that Billie was supported enough, Lars led him towards the door. The wine bottles sat at the foot of the empty bed, forgotten.


	12. Chapter 12

The air had grown heavy with steam by the time the two of them stepped into the pristine white shower, Lars having turned the heat on full blast at first to cloud the room. A sauna-like atmosphere might help Billie relax, he figured. He pulled his lover into him, chests resting together, arms wrapping carefully around his waist, and guided him under the jets of water. There was a hiss against his collarbone as they found wounds, and instinctively Lars tightened his arms around Billie, eliciting a further hiss and a rueful sound that might have been a chuckle. _Fandens!_ He turned his head to press a kiss to Billie's temple in wordless apology.  
  
His eyes slid shut, resting his head against Billie's, stilling for a long few moments and enjoying the drum and dapple of soothing spray on his skin and the press of a smaller body. Finally, he spoke.  
  
"That…it didn't exactly go how I thought," he murmured, eyes remaining closed. "How I intended." _I fucked it up pretty well,_ he added silently, determined to keep that to himself and thus to deal with his own issues at a later date. Nobody's perfect. Still learning. "M'sorry."  
  
"You mean you hadn't planned to eat me like a cob of corn?" Billie teased. The steamy air was rehydrating him and after that brush of pain when the water first touched him the gentle spray felt nice on his abused skin. It didn't not hurt, but it was a bearable kind of hurt, and the warmth of everything relaxed him – air, water, arms around him. He tightened his own arms around his lover's waist, not up to stretching them around Lars's neck like he normally would.  
  
He sighed, the sound both thoughtful and contented somehow as he rambled, language filter not fully in place along with the rest of his mind. Billie was clearer, now, but not quite clear, not back to normal. The words that tumbled out were less considered than they might have been otherwise.  
  
"I read some stuff on BDSM when Adie and I started dabbling, you know, after I met you, and I think I need a safeword. But I dunno if it would've done any good tonight anyway; I couldn't _say_ anything and I dunno what woke you up 'cause I thought you'd passed out or died on me and I was freaking out 'cause it didn't feel good anymore. Coupla times I thought I was gonna have an attack and I wouldn't've been able to hold it off. I didn't have anything left."  
  
Billie fell silent, absently sucking on his lover's collarbone. The prominent shape felt soothing against his tongue. He pulled off and continued, "But you didn't let me and you didn't leave me and it's okay. I'm okay. Sore as hell and glad I got the tattoo to blame for not bein' able to wear a guitar strap for a while but okay." An impish smile crossed his face. "My ass ain't on the list of parts that hurt, though."  
  
More seriously he added, "M'open to you most of the time in bed, Uli, but that was different. I let go of _everything_ and I didn't even know I could do that. Didn't know I could be so…blank? You could've done anything to me – you could've destroyed me, if you'd wanted to. It's a scary fucking thought except it isn't because I trust you. And maybe we should get some proper restraints, with buckles and shit, because I liked that part." Softer, almost meditatively, "I liked being helpless for you."  
  
His mouth returned to sucking on Danish skin as his muscles loosened further and he leaned heavily against Lars, trusting the older man to hold him up.  
  
"Mmm," Lars hummed in simple reply, feeling a swell inside his chest. It was nice. A variety of emotions had risen at Billie's words, but any thoughts he had remained in his head, halfway between wanting to hold them and examine them later, along with what his lover had said, and just not feeling like talking. Not right at that calm little moment, anyway.  
  
He rubbed his thumb over Billie's hip, almost an echo of earlier in the night, when they were languishing on the couch and the air was charged almost to the point of luminescence. The image of Billie stretched out on his back, tied and restrained with black leather, silver fastenings, tight and unyielding…it shimmered into his head and stayed there, and it was one he was very interested in seeing for real. Hearing mention of BDSM, Lars wasn't sure how much he liked causing physical pain with anything other than his mouth. He _loved_ using his mouth, as both of them well knew, but anything else – it just didn't stir the same fire in him, just didn't seem as primal. Didn't seem as personal. But tying Billie down with leather and silver, that stirred a fire.  
  
That image drew a small smile from his lips, as did the movement of a tender mouth over his neck, throat and collarbone. Wanting that mouth on his, he dipped his head and encouraged his lover's up, meeting softening lips in an indulgent kiss. He hummed again, the sound reverberating between them as tongues rubbed together.  
  
"This," he murmured on breaking away, grazing a fingertip over one of the open bitemarks. "Was a one off. I mean I'm not saying that I won't ever get my teeth into you again, but it won't be to quite this degree. Those marks on your back kind of caught me off guard, and um, I guess they tapped into something inside me that needed to…complement them, complete them, maybe. If you'd told me about those scratches, my reaction might not have been so, um, visceral."  
  
The drummer then gave a nervous little chuckle. "You scared the hell out of me with that scream," he admitted, wiping away the remnants of black tears. "Brought me back, that's for sure." At that, he moved further under the shower and closed his eyes again for the water to cascade over his face.  
  
Billie watched his lover's upturned face, water streaming over and around it with a brief pink tinge as the blood washed away, and he carefully leaned against the wall, shoulders flattening and back arching out so as not to touch the tile. He thought about what Lars had said, groping after a response.  
  
"Yeah, it might not have been such a visceral reaction if I'd said something first. Might not have been as honest, either." He half-smiled at the questioning sound. "I needed to know that you could accept that. Adrienne doesn't often scratch that hard; she says she's too much of a mom to be into pain. But sometimes she does, or leaves some other kind of mark, and I welcome it when that happens, just like I welcome yours."  
  
His voice softened – as much as it could with the sandpaper quality it currently exhibited, anyway. "I wanted to know what your instinctive reaction would be, and I got it. In spades." Billie Joe laughed. "It's good that it's a one off, especially because of where it is professionally speaking, but I'm not sorry about it. This whole night is a one off, Lars. You asked me here to lay claim to me, and not once did I say no, or want to. Until after."  
  
Billie looked down, eyes tracking the water swirling around the drain. Still fairly loose-tongued, he found a way to express what he hadn't been able to earlier, speaking in a near whisper. "I'm a toucher, Lars, you know that. I need to have that connection, and I guess that when everything is amplified the way it was tonight, that need is, too. I got scared in the middle there because you'd stopped – and it wasn't to tease, it was different – and I was fucking petrified when you said you were going somewhere afterwards."  
  
He licked his lips and the faint taste of blood reminded him. "That last day of vacation, it really disoriented me when I woke up alone after what had happened in the jacuzzi. I didn't even clue in then that that was part of my problem with it. But I just…" he trailed off, then nodded firmly, more or less to himself. "Whatever kind of play we end up doing, that's what I'm gonna need from you. More than I'll need the first aid kit right at first."  
  
Hazel eyes raised to find green ones staring at him and Billie smiled, feeling like a huge wuss but a hell of a lot better for admitting that. He also understood that being upfront about it, now that he knew what he needed, would make future experiences that much better for both of them. He pointed with his chin at the drummer. "So, you gonna listen to me moan and groan while you use soap and stuff on me? I am definitely not steady enough to do it myself." Raised eyebrows made him grin. "C'mon. The least you can do after fucking me into oblivion is wash my back, dude."  
  
Lars snorted a laugh. "Will ya be wanting a footrub afterwards? Maybe for me to handfeed you fine chocolates? If you make a list, I'll try to keep up." Then, far more seriously and truly addressing what Billie had said, he reached out and grasped Billie's arm, pulling him back under the jets of water and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Anything you want," he murmured.  
  
If the roles had been reversed tonight and Lars had been the one hopelessly strung-out and vulnerable, he knew he would most definitely have needed to be held and kept in this world, something warm to encircle him and for him to fall back into once the stars released him. Something to keep him sane, even. _Despite our many and varied differences, fundamentally I think we're a lot more similar than either of us thought,_ he mused to himself. He realised now that tapping into the mindset of his submissive self would help him no end to understand what Billie would be going through at such an intense time. Learning, learning.  
  
He raised his hands to slick the water from his hair, then rubbed away the last traces of blood on his torso and leaned back towards the shelf, plucking a soft sponge and bar of soap – both white, naturally – from it.  
  
"Fuck, no consideration for my poor battered old body. I gotta do all the work around here…" he trailed off into disgruntled mumbling as he lathered up the sponge. Once sufficiently foamy, he wiggled his finger in a 'turn around' motion and handed Billie the soap as he obeyed.  
  
"Hold this. And, um, don't drop it. You never know what might happen." The wicked grin he wore was evident in his voice. His free hand settled at Billie's waist, thumb stroking over slick skin, and he began to smooth the sponge over his lover's shoulderblades.  
  
" _Your_ poor battered body?" Billie snorted in amusement, the sound changing to a tight whine when the soap suds hit his broken skin. It stung like a son of a bitch and he reached shaky hands for the shower wall for support. One palm flattened; the other, curled around the bar of soap, bent to rest his knuckles against the white tiles. His breath wheezed in and out with the occasional hiss or grunt of pain as his lover methodically cleaned every mark on his back.  
  
The sharpness gradually faded as his body adapted and Billie rested his forehead above his hands, closing his eyes and letting it wash through him. Not worrying about what category the sensation fell into or what he thought he should feel but just experiencing it. Trusting Lars to pay attention and stop if it seemed like it was too much. It flitted through his mind that that was the very thing the drummer had _not_ done a short while ago in bed – or the equivalent thereof, anyway. Yet it felt natural still to let go; Billie still felt safe. His near-panic had been soothed away and in truth, his memory of the whole incident was hazy at best. The way it had felt remained crystal clear; the details were mostly gone. And right now, with that light grip on his waist, the slow strokes of the thumb echoing the movement of the soapy sponge, he felt cared for and adequately grounded.  
  
His eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. Obediently he shuffled under the spray at Lars's direction, rinsing off body and hair. Callused hands smoothed all the soap from him and finally plucked the bar from his hand to return it to its shelf with a laugh at how nerveless his fingers had grown. Billie stumbled out of the stall behind the drummer to be enveloped in a fluffy white towel that felt incredibly soft against his so-sensitive skin – and wonderfully warm.  
  
"All this time you had a towel warmer and you never told me? Fucker." The complaint lacked teeth, ending as it did in a massive yawn. He managed to tie the towel around his waist after a halfhearted attempt to dry the rest of him and reached for his identically-clad lover. Billie pulled Lars into his arms, ignoring the muttering about getting him all wet, and dropped his damp head onto a bare shoulder. He pressed tiny kisses to the older man's neck, throat, ear; whatever he could reach without straining too much, drowsy contentment stealing through him in the wake of everything. A faint hum buzzed through his kisses until he spoke, fatigue slurring his gravelled voice.  
  
"Need a bed soon. Need you with me. Love you." He paused, setting his teeth into Lars's flesh, pressing his hips into the drummer's in a liquid motion as short fingernails skittered down an unmarked back. The knowledge swirled through him sluggishly that this would be their last night together for weeks, while Lars was on the road, and it made Billie reluctant to give in to sleep even though he could hardly keep his eyes open. Besides, he didn't need to see to fuck, right? That fuzzy reasoning conjured the image of a blindfold to go with the buckled restraints he'd mentioned earlier and he pressed his overwhelmed and over-stimulated body even closer to his lover's. A low burn of arousal still inhabited his skin – the kind that could be fanned into flame now or banked for later. Billie skimmed his mouth up to meet another pair of lips in a wet kiss, abruptly aware of something else, too: that Lars had only come once in all of this. His whisper held a naughty promise. "I can take you again if you want me. Have to be on my knees but you like me that way, all yours."  
  
The drummer grinned, speaking in a low voice against his lover's lips. "Thank you for keeping me updated on that, because I'm not done yet. Actually it would be more accurate to say _you're_ not done yet." His body tingled from Billie's attention, alert all over again to both his words and his touch, and he conveyed this to the man in his arms with one slow rock of his hips and the draw of a wicked tongue along an unpierced ear. At the resulting soft whine, he chuckled. "Yeah, I think you got another round left in you. You haven't quite passed out yet, and I'm very much goal-oriented."  
  
To ensure Billie remained at least somewhat attentive, Lars slid his hand between the two of them, behind a fluffy towel and gave the younger man's cock an insistent squeeze, lips splitting for a wolfish grin. "Back to bed, then?"  
  
He led Billie back towards the master bedroom, arm around his waist, their progress remaining slow as his teeth fell to nibble at the nape of a squeaky clean neck. Two white towels were dropped at the door, and the drummer settled on the edge of the bed, encouraging Billie to settle in his lap, legs spreading to straddle him. Lars smiled up at his lover, smoothing hands over his thighs and sides. The underlying sexual tone that had been acutely present in Lars's voice leaked away, replaced with softness as his fingertips reminded him of all the curves and textures of tattooed skin.  
  
"Whatever you might think tonight is about, the premise of it obviously is me laying claim to you and sure, that can be what it is on one level. But honestly, on another level and really what I think it's about purely as a personal thing, it's you. To me, I'm not really in the equation. It's about you and making you feel the best you possibly can in any way possible, as many times over as possible. Half of the time I don't particularly care if I get off in the first five minutes or after five hours or not at all – having you hit that point, or even having you go beyond that point and seeing it all unfold right in front of me…sometimes it's better than whatever physical gratification I get myself, and that goes as far back, in a fucked up kind of way, as the motel room." He paused, eyes flicking away, and dragged his lips over his tattoo in an almost kiss, somewhat caught offguard by his own candour. He grew a little quieter. "It's almost always been about you."  
  
Something tugged on his heart, and the words _I love you_ rose in his mind, not for the first time that night. Still they would not quite reach his lips, so he made do with grasping Billie's hand and meshing their fingers. Lips fell to the small tattoo on the fleshy part of his lover's hand before they raised and the drummer beckoned for a real kiss.  
  
Billie gave it to him, mouth eagerly meeting his lover's in a sweet rhythm even as his mind spun. He'd known Lars took a deep delight in his pleasure – he wasn't blind – but to hear it spoken made it concrete, and perhaps he hadn't realised just how deep it went. How much it meant to him that Billie Joe laid everything open for him. It made him feel good to hear it. Sexy. Wanted.  
  
"Lucky for you that I'm a shameless exhibitionist then, huh?" he murmured with a husky laugh, returning to the kiss immediately. Tongue delving into the drummer's mouth to seek out matching warmth and muscle; to exchange tastes and feel that velvet stroking over the sensitive inner surface of his lips. Fingers threading through damp brown hair to hold the older man steady while they kissed, drawing it out, drowning in it until a faint moan broke through at the feel of his erection rubbing against another and Billie's hips undulated, instinctively seeking friction.  
  
 _It's almost always been about you._ No more needed to be said; Billie knew that their first time, with that intense desperation in both of them, had been about James – and about Mike, at least when it had started. Things had shifted for him before the end. While that shift had come much, much later for Lars, it _had_ come; he believed that now. He was here tonight because of it. Because of all of it. Their desires twisted beautifully around each other and created a place where they could both indulge in them to an astonishing extent. Yeah, there might be some fumbling with new things but in the end, this was all that mattered. Being right here. Kissing his lover and rubbing against him like a kitten wanting to be petted. Willing to give over everything because it brought them both pleasure. That they were different kinds of pleasure was irrelevant; they were equally valid, and him giving up control was just that: a gift.  
  
He pulled back enough to nuzzle the drummer's jaw. "Mmm. I can't get enough of you. I know I'm gonna crash sometime but right now – all of tonight – you've had me so high." Billie nipped at a full bottom lip and grinned. "Lars Ulrich, my drug of choice." His hips moved a little faster, pressed a little harder as desire-hazed eyes expressed his growing need. "I like having my own private stash."  
  
Well, if that wasn't enough to draw a wide, wolfish grin from Lars, the heated rub against his crotch certainly was. Sparks flashed up his spine, making him arch fitfully, eyes sliding shut and head rolling back. "Ahhhh, fuck," he breathed, gripping his lover's hips as they moved. He matched their fluid rolls with the slow rocks of his own. Rock and roll. Heh.  
  
Skin alight, he raised his head, mouth searching out Californian skin seemingly of its own accord. His words were muffled against the curve of his lover's throat. "Though I don't want to play into the cliché of it, I like that I'm addictive." His grin was audible as he finished speaking and his teeth were irresistibly drawn to scrape tanned flesh. Pulling away only to grasp Billie's hand and bring it to his mouth, he kissed it a few times before pulling the index finger into his mouth and sucking on it. In the next moment that finger was being encouraged back, sliding around Billie's waist and down, down… Lars looked up, green glittering as the flicker of realisation went off in fogged hazel eyes, a second before the younger man stiffened and gasped.  
  
The drummer grinned once again. "I'll bet this isn't the first time you've jerked yourself off like this, hm?" he purred, biting at the unmarked area of Billie's chest. He continued to hold Billie's hand, moving it for him in a slow rhythm, controlling the speed and depth of the penetration. A heavy-lidded, lustful gaze moved up to drink in the reaction. Ah, the reaction. _That_ was his drug. As he spoke with wicked delight, he resumed the slow rock of his hips, the slow grind of their overheated flesh, perfectly in time with their hands. "How does it feel, _ah_ …to be fingerfucking yourself in your lover's lap?"  
  
Billie could barely breathe for the sudden choking grip of lust at how incredibly filthy it was, feeling the twitch and pulse of muscle along his finger at the same time as his body reacted to the penetration. As Lars had speculated, it was hardly the first time he'd done it – not even the first time with an audience, though his stage antics tended to be fake just for the sheer awkwardness involved with his pants on – but this was different. He'd never really been aware of the sensation at both levels; his focus had, of course, been getting off and he hadn't been held to a deliberate pace. It magnified the experience to feel the drummer's hand clamped around his own, dictating his movement.  
  
He curled his finger a little and brushed over swollen, sensitive tissue, giving a hard shudder and a throaty moan in response. Hugely dilated eyes blinked at his lover. "First time with help and it feels pretty fucking good. Pretty debauched," he added with a smile. Billie Joe bent forward in search of a kiss, little whines leaking out as his fingertip continued to stimulate his prostate with every push Lars gave his hand. He licked greedily at the older man's mouth.  
  
"I want you," he groaned between kisses. The building tension had him dizzy and trembling and Billie didn't think he could take much more teasing. Not with how crazy sensitive his body was by this time. He needed more than the slow, gentle glide of a single finger; needed to be overwhelmed into letting go. Lars's words about what this night meant to him provided Billie with the impetus to make a demand of his own. "I want to fuck you. Wanna ride you, only for _me_ this time."  
  
Lars's breath hitched and a tremor twisted through him; the dual strike of Billie's words and the continued friction of their bodies firing through him like a white hot bullet. Lustrous green eyes locked with his lover's as he tried to maintain his composure. "Fuck," he rasped again, pushing his free hand into Billie's damp black hair and scraping short nails over his scalp. As he pulled the frontman's head down for a hard kiss, a low growl unfurled from his throat. "Come _here_."  
  
 _I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you._  
  
The words reverberated in Lars's head until they became nonsensical, and though he knew Billie meant the same type of fucking that Lars had instigated in the jacuzzi, it still provided a rush of nerves and heat that coloured his cheeks and simultaneously flipped the switch on his aggression. They sounded _so good_. _I want to fuck you._  
  
For me _this time._  
  
The kiss grew more frantic, a chorus of whines and moans and growls bleeding out from both of them, and Lars released Billie's hand to claw and scrabble backwards up the bed, utterly unwilling to break away from that sweet mouth but wanting a more stable area to fuck on. Sliding off the edge of the bed mid-orgasm was not going to fucking happen.  
  
When he did break away, his mouth fell to Billie's throat and bit down hard, enough to leave a vicious looking bruise and enough for the flesh in his teeth to vibrate with Billie's cry. His hand curled into his lover's hair as he lifted his head to speak against reddened lips.  
  
"You want to fuck me? Then fuck me, Billie Joe."  
  
With that, he lay back, rocking his hips up a few more times, gaze taunting. His tongue swiped over his top lip. " _Fuck me_."  
  
A feral grin stretched Billie's lips and the urge to take his lover's invitation literally flickered to a brief life. To move between parted thighs and drape Lars's legs over his shoulders as he thrust inside, smashing any remaining barriers. Tonight was not the time, though; tonight was about something else, and besides, Billie knew Lars wasn't ready for that. Not for a while. Not yet.  
  
But he couldn't entirely deny the impulse and as he locked eyes with mocking green heat, his jaw worked soundlessly, stealthily dredging up saliva. When he was ready, Billie moved closer to the drummer – only instead of straddling the supine body, his head dropped, mouth opening to suck in that proud erection until his lips touched its base and he pulled back, leaving a shining trail and grinning at the shocked moan as he straightened.  
  
Now, _now_ he lifted his knee over Lars's pelvis, reaching one hand down to act as a guide as he sank onto the spit-slicked cock. He gave an experimental wiggle, testing the angle; breath expelling in a harsh cry as he found a good one. Palms flattened on the drummer's chest to keep him steady, his hips resumed that slow, fluid roll, each undulation roughing over his sweet spot.  
  
It wasn't a role reversal, at least not fully. Billie hadn't needed that extra layer of lubrication; he'd needed to push back a little at his lover despite swimming deep underwater still. He'd needed to take the risk of putting his mouth on Lars. And with that accomplished, Billie was going to take his pleasure exactly how he wanted it.  
  
His hips rocked faster, faster, faster until he lost track of the signature time, no longer hearing his own fierce cries or the older man's moans; hazel eyes gone blind with need as he stared at the body beneath him, feeling wave after wave of purely sexual energy rush through him as he fucked down onto Lars at breakneck speed, spine flexing effortlessly to feed the addiction. His blurred vision sparked black and white around the edges and he could feel small patches of wetness on his back that stung as sweat lacquered his golden skin and joined the water droplets dampening his hair. It all added to the sensation thrumming through his every cell and his fingers curled into the drummer's chest hair, digging in and hanging on.   
  
Sounds poured from Lars's parted lips, a steady stream of noises broken apart by staccato gasps, throat working to cry out and breathe and swallow sometimes all at once. He was pressing his head back so hard, his back peeled away from the bed and arched to the point of real pain, past it even; remaining in that same position for minutes and utterly assaulted by this unrelenting stimulation, this unrelenting _man_ fucking himself deep and hard onto Lars's cock with overwhelming speed and ferocity – it blew everything but pleasure from his mind. No pain would factor in until it stopped.  
  
Colours shimmered behind his eyelids, the pressure from having them squeezed so tightly shut creating bursts of blue and pink and colours he couldn't even name. Sweat stung around his eyelashes, pooling there from his cheeks, beads becoming rivulets as the minutes stretched out and Billie showed no sign of stopping or even slowing down.  
  
When his back muscles finally gave out, the drummer prised his eyes open, green rolling wildly to find his lover, and oh fuck. _Oh fuck._ The stretch of that lean, lithe body, scattered tattoos, fading bruises and scratches, the shine of sweat that glittered with each powerful downward thrust, and that face. Reddened, swollen lips open wide to release harsh breath and high sound, curls of jet black hair that shook as they hung loose from a damp forehead, beads of sweat that tracked down temple and cheek, and eyes that…that were just… They locked with with vibrant green but looked right through him. Billie was gone, he was just fucking _gone_.  
  
A wink of green was traced by a droplet of sweat, bringing Lars's gaze from blank hazel to an ominous thundercloud. The image of the platinum dog tag he'd bought blinked into his mind for a split second, superimposed over the tattoo, perhaps draped there as the two of them fucked on some day, in some minute in the future. Drumstick callused hands found straining thighs, nails digging into flesh, and green once again found hazel.  
  
"Beautiful," he rasped through the high moans.  
  
Whether Billie actually heard him or not was a mystery, but the corner of those full lips tipped up into a smirk.  
  
Lars would not forget that sight for a very, very long time.  
  
His head rolled to one side before his body gave a sharp spasm and he cried out, the sound almost a scream, followed by a long, helpless moan. "Billie," he said, and it sounded akin to a whine. "Billie," he said, and this one was more like a sob.  
  
Everything shrunk to a white pinpoint of sensation, everything felt like it was multiplied by ten, a hundred, _a fucking thousand…_ His body spasmed again, hips bucking up three, four times, another full body spasm…his nails dug harder into Billie's thighs as his body continued to spasm more frequently, each time his cock slid into his lover taking it all higher, sharper, brighter, oh _God_ …  
  
"Billie!" Shrill and thin, another spasm, his nails broke skin, his head sang with _too much_ , another spasm, and all he could do was nod by way of permission and hope that Billie saw it before he too was gone, lost to the longest orgasm of his life.  
  
The initial faint bite of nails in his thigh muscles drew Billie's attention, enough so that he heard his lover's proclamation. _Beautiful._ It pleased him and also afforded him a certain amount of smugness, especially as sense snapped back into his eyes and he refocussed on Lars – Lars who was beginning to shake himself into pieces thanks to this wild ride.  
  
Billie saw the nod; understood it at a basic level; but the signal he'd been waiting for this time was the beginning of the drummer's orgasm and as he watched pleasure overtake Lars and felt the violent spasms under him, Billie Joe rose upright and wrapped his hand around his cock, falling into instant rhythm with his rocking hips. His other hand covered the one clamped to his thigh, his own fingers digging bruises into flesh as the onslaught of new sensation curved his body into a tight arch, and he threw his head back with an animalistic howl as he came.  
  
He held the position for a minute, more from an inability to uncurl himself than a desire to show off, and then laboriously straightened to look down at his lover. The smirk returned at how absolutely shattered Lars was: brown hair curling and matted with sweat, sticking up all over the place in the back where his head had rubbed against the mattress; mouth open to suck in air in great wheezing breaths; the occasional tremor visibly rippling over Danish skin. Eyes glazed yet with pleasure-shock. _Fuck, yes._  
  
Gently, Billie removed the drummer's hands, absently noting ten new little wounds as he placed them palm-down on the bed and then lifted up enough for Lars's spent cock to slip out of him before he bent for a kiss, pressing their chests together. One kiss wasn't enough and he scattered lip prints over the sweaty cheeks and forehead in a burst of boyish enthusiasm that would definitely be short-lived. "I'd ask if it was good for you but I don't really need to," he murmured, that hint of smugness clearly audible.  
  
The vicious tingle growing in his skin alerted Billie that he should probably faceplant very soon and reluctantly he began to pull away from Lars, rising back onto his knees. He was about to shift over so he could lay down when he noticed the condition of the bed. A hard shiver ran through him at the pattern of brownish flecks and spatters – a lot more of them than he'd anticipated. Breathing suddenly became more difficult and something twisted in his stomach. A sharp little whine of interest, something deep inside sniffing at the blood in mingled want and nervous fear. Billie's eyes squeezed shut briefly before staring at the stains again.  
  
"I, um. I kinda bled a lot, huh?" He swallowed hard and tore his gaze away to meet Lars's. "I think I opened some of them back up, you know, when I was…" he trailed off with a grunt of surprise as blackness crept into the edges of his vision and began to spread. "Fuck, when I said crash, didn't think it'd go fast as a meth crash."  
  
Billie caught the quizzical concern on his lover's face and saw his swollen lips form words, but he missed what was said as he used the last of his energy to roll off Lars, his overtaxed body finally imposing its will on his libido and everything else. Pain came screeching in when he landed on his back and a pitiful little cry escaped with his consciousness.  
  
"Bi—" Lars cleared his throat and tried for a third time. "Billie? Are you okay?" No response came from the still body beside him. " _Billie_?" More urgent this time, and still he received nothing. A barb of panic stung his exhausted body, forcing it into activity, and he turned onto his side and reached out to turn Billie's head towards him. He was breathing, just out like a light. Good.  
  
The drummer pushed himself up with a groan – he was pretty sure he'd pulled some muscles in his back, lucky then that there were a few days before tour so he could let them heal – and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was _definitely_ too old to have orgasms like _that_ anymore. It must've lasted, what, three minutes straight from that initial build, those spasms? Jesus. _Way to act like you're fucking seventeen, body._ But still, what an orgasm. What a ride. What a night. He was going to have a hard time topping that. But, he acknowledged with a smirk, didn't mean it wouldn't be fun trying.  
  
Pain began leaking into his consciousness from other areas of his body, so before he too crashed, Lars slid out of the bed, making sure that Billie was definitely out cold, and scuffed to the bathroom. He took a leak, drank some water and picked up the disinfectant wipes, the Advil and a glass. When he finally dared look at his reflection, he noticed a small trail of blood sitting like a Nikki Sixx style soul patch on his chin. He frowned and pulled his bottom lip out to inspect it, finding bloodied teethmarks just inside. Well, fuck, when the hell did that happen? He hadn't even noticed. Now it throbbed. He licked away most of the blood, popped a couple of Advil himself and filled the glass with water before collecting everything and shuffling back to the bedroom.  
  
Billie remained in the same position he'd fallen in, and despite his burgeoning fatigue, Lars couldn't leave him like that. So, he set the Advil and water down on the bedside table beside his lover – in case he woke up during the night – and climbed onto the bed. He'd moved plenty of unconscious bandmates before, whilst either piss-drunk or exhausted himself – hell, he'd even single-handedly hauled a punch-drunk and alcohol-drunk Hetfield across a room into a hotel bathtub before now. This? This was nothing. The wipes were set aside on his pillow, and he wrapped one arm around Billie's shoulders and the other around his waist, turning him onto his front with a grunt. He winced as the sheets peeled away from open wounds with an audible noise, and Billie himself, though lost to the world, gave a little whimper. Lars stroked damp black hair, smirking softly, before swiping a wipe or two over the younger man's back. Shifting down the bed, he lifted each of Billie's legs to do the same for the ten little half moon cuts on his thighs – the drummer didn't really remember doing that, either – and finally, after casting the wipes aside and shaking his head to clear it of threatening sleep, turned Billie onto his side so none of the cuts touched the bed. He hissed as he did so, a spark of pain going off somewhere on his back, and he rubbed it ruefully once Billie was settled.  
  
He watched Billie for a few moments, the vibrancy in his green eyes beginning to dull. Thanking the fact that he'd set the heat to come on in a few hours – shit, was it really two in the morning?! – so he didn't have to get out of bed again to ensure Billie wouldn't get too cold in the night, on top of the sheets as he was, Lars slid into his bed and tucked himself close to his lover. As his body and mind began to shut down, he took Billie's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back before sliding his own hand down to settle at an unmarked waist.  
  
 _I need new sheets,_ was his last thought before he let sleep swallow him.  
  
Billie became aware of the coolness of air along his back where he was used to warmth as he drifted. He could feel steady breaths coasting along the nape of his neck and a hand draped over his waist, but that was all. Frowning a little, he shifted with the half-formed intention of pressing back against his lover.  
  
He swallowed a cry as the movement shot pain through him and brought him fully awake. The slight separation made sense as memory rushed back in. He didn't want to move again and chance making it hurt worse, but he couldn't ignore the increasingly urgent call of nature any longer – Lars's bed was already enough of a mess without him regressing to babyhood. Gritting his teeth, he sat up and gingerly rose to his feet.  
  
The Advil caught his eye and he gratefully downed a couple on the way to the bathroom. Musings about the previous night kept him company and then, as he turned to leave, he hesitated.  
  
He wanted to see. Billie knew he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep until the painkillers had started to do their thing, and he thought that maybe it would be best to look now. Without Lars watching.   
  
Settling with his back to the large mirror, he took a deep breath against both the vision and the pain and twisted around to see his reflection, hissing involuntarily, eyes widening.  
  
 _Holy shit._ 'Marked' wasn't the word. There had to be more than three dozen bitemarks, scattered in eight clear double lines. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four,_ his shell-shocked musician's mind labelled them. They started high on his shoulderblades and converged almost to a point above the small of his back, one set veering off towards his hip a little before petering out. The original scratches were still visible; thin red lines that had served as guides. Except these lines had provoked the attack, not broken it.   
  
Billie stumbled forward to the nearest wall and leaned his forehead against the cool tile. _He lost control. You already knew that – you knew it as soon as he bit down the second time and you still had enough of a mind then to say no. If you'd wanted to._  
  
Only, he hadn't. Wanted to or said it. At the same time, neither had he understood what the end result would be. These bites weren't going to fade into obscure little scars like the one on his throat, or even be as amorphous as the one he'd had framed in tattooed lightning. No, when these healed, they would still scream of sex and possession.  
  
He was suddenly, profoundly glad he'd chosen to get the tattoo yesterday; that he'd already made the decision to commit Lars permanently and personally to his skin. Because without that in place, Billie had a feeling that he would be freaking out one hell of a lot worse right now as he realised the kind of impact this…mural…would have on his life. He would need to be careful about being seen in public without a shirt from now on. Fuck, he'd need to be careful about how high he pulled up his shirt on stage, too. It also had potential repercussions and implications beyond that, that he wasn't equipped to begin thinking about at this particular moment.  
  
He backed up and twisted round to look again, trying to picture it without the rusty spots. Just that little trail-off at the bottom would be possibly visible during normal sorts of activities, and by itself it wasn't so blatant. He could work with that. He'd still need to be careful, but not to the degree he'd initially thought.  
  
Billie couldn't deny that he derived a certain pleasure from the marks – from the sheer carnality of them. From the fact that Lars _had_ lost control, especially because it had been because of not just Billie, but Billie and Adrienne. The sly, dark corner in his mind hummed in satisfaction that his bait had been swallowed whole and then some by not warning the drummer about the scratches. If the answer he'd needed had come in a form a little more tangible than he'd been anticipating, well, too fucking bad. Billie Joe had taken a chance. He could live with the consequences.  
  
The matter decided, at least for now, he shuffled back into the bedroom and climbed onto the very large, very dirty bed with a rueful smile. The sharp aching had begun to soften while he'd been checking himself out and his fatigue was all but knocking him over the head. He slipped into his lover's arms, pressing their chests close this time and tangling their legs, snuggling right in. At a momentary loss for what to do with Lars's arm since he definitely couldn't tolerate a hand on his back at the moment, Billie finally curved callused fingers over his ass with a faint giggle and kissed the underside of a stubbling jaw.  
  
"I love you, you vampiric fucker." The whisper faded to a yawn, and then to slow, even breathing as he fell asleep.   
  
Dawn struck the Ulrich residence in precious little time, and a few hours later incessant bleeping dragged Lars from his semi-coma. He growled wordlessly under his breath before regrettably untangling himself from his lover and pushing himself upright with a wince, rubbing his eyes to get them to work. "The fuck?" was all he could manage in the way of speech for now, coupled with a few choice mumbled Danish phrases. Some horrible, ghastly little alarm was going off, and it wasn't one of his. Ears eventually finding the source of the noise, Lars crawled (is it possible to stumble when you crawl? Because he was pretty sure he managed it) to the end of the bed and reached down, waving his hand around the floor until he grasped Billie's pants, swiftly followed by his cell phone. A few more choice foreign phrases and an intensely furrowed brow, and the drummer eventually worked out how to shut it off. _Forhelvede._  
  
He was just snuggling back under the covers as Billie stirred and shifted, the younger man letting out a small sound of pain as damaged skin was stretched across aching bones. Lars slid a soothing hand up the younger man's side, unwilling to open his eyes again. Too fucking early, not enough sleep, too many aches. Fuck it. When he finally did open his eyes again, he found cloudy hazel looking right back at him, making him smile sleepily.  
  
"Eight forty-fucking-five, you're crazy," he murmured in a sleep-roughed voice before shifting closer and claiming a good morning kiss. He hadn't fully acknowledged to himself that their last night together for a good while had just passed, and he was rather glad of that. Not that he wasn't looking forward to the tour – hell, some moments, especially during rehearsal, he felt like a fucking bull at a gate, _Come on, come on! Fuck, let's go!_ But it was an indication of the lives they both had to lead. Since getting together, neither of them had really had huge, lengthy work commitments far afield to keep them apart. So this, this European tour would be a good way of easing into the idea that they might go weeks, months without laying eyes on each other while off on world tours. Lars was simultaneously glad for the independence and annoyed at the enforced separation.  
  
Fuck it, Billie was there, right with him, and he wasn't going to waste their time getting all introspective and moody. After a minute or two, both of them slowly coming around – and shit, was Lars glad that Billie also wasn't so much of a morning person – the Dane pressed two, three sweet little kisses to full lips.  
  
"How you feeling, huh?" He nudged Billie's nose with his own, speaking softly. Or as softly as he could with a voice that sounded like he'd been gargling gravel. "You want some Advil, or a coffee, _min skat_?" A pause, and he nuzzled at his lover's jaw, allowed himself one sulky little muttering under his breath. "Wish you could stay. _Want_ you to stay."  
  
Billie had to clear his throat several times before he could produce more than a whisper. The resultant sound was far harsher than his typical just-waking-up voice. "Me, too. But we have studio time booked for this morning and I gotta be there. Even if I sound like complete shit." He laughed hoarsely and reached for the drummer.  
  
White-hot pain flashed up his spine with the movement and Billie gasped. "Fuck. _Fuck_." He waited for it to subside and croaked out, "Yeah, Advil first, please. I don't think I own a body part that doesn't hurt." His toes ached from digging into the mattress for purchase and the throb in his inner thigh said he'd probably pulled some groin muscles keeping his legs spread like that. Then there was his back, and the less said about that, the better. A frown creased his brow. He could play while sitting on a stool – he'd already planned to, when he'd decided to get the tattoo – but how could he do anything if he couldn't even _move_ without being in agony?  
  
"Thanks." Billie took the pills and the glass of water, tilting his head up where he lay to swallow them down. Some water sloshed onto the pillow but it wasn't like it mattered at this point. He closed his eyes for a moment, frown deepening as he thought. "Could you pass me my phone, please?"  
  
He'd been responsible for a long, long time now; Billie couldn't remember the last time he'd blown off band practice – and for all that it was in the studio, that's all it was, the three of them fucking around with potential material. He could remember Mike and Tré's last times, and that the reasons had not all been noble ones like sick children. Though no one had ever ditched because of too much sex to the best of his knowledge, but then again, no one he knew had ever been fucked like that, either.  
  
A little smirk found its way to his lips as he speed-dialled Mike. Tré wouldn't be up yet; if he wasn't going to go the whole nine yards appearance-wise, then he generally rolled out of bed, took five minutes to shower and left the house dripping. Mike, on the other hand, usually did things like eat breakfast and work out and shit.  
  
" _Bill? Somethin' wrong, dude? S'early,_ " came the bassist's sleepy voice.  
  
Hazel eyes reflected puzzlement back at green. "Um, we're supposed to be at 880 in like, an hour. I just—"  
  
" _No, no, I cancelled that. Tré had to go to New York, some school thing for Ramona. He was gonna call you. Guess he forgot. Anyway, it's off so fuck off so I can get some more sleep, 'kay? I resched-ed for Thursday._ "  
  
"Yeah, okay. See you Thursday." Billie ended the call with relief. Three days would give him time to heal a decent amount. Lars took the cell phone from him and slid close, those expressive eyes asking questions.  
  
"Tré had to go see his daughter, so I can stay for the day. Which's good, because I don't wanna move any more than I have to right now. Sleeping stiffened me up and fuck, Uli, I hurt all over. Just wanna go back to sleep with you and let the meds kick back in." His tone edged into petulance by the end and he rolled his eyes a little at himself but let the whining stand. He was in a lot of pain, and he was tired, so it didn't seem all that unwarranted, really. Still, Billie offered a weary little smile by way of reassurance. He wasn't emergency-room kind of hurting, just…fucking sore.  
  
Lars narrowed his eyes briefly at Billie's evident pain and smile in the face of it. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded. "Good. Wasn't really planning on getting up anyway. I was just gonna tell you where the coffee machine was," he muttered. "Eight forty-fucking-five, Jesus." A beat, and he smirked. "I'm kidding, by the way, in case you think I'm that much of an asshole. But not about eight forty-five. The only thing I'll willingly get up and function fully for this early is my kids."  
  
Gingerly he tucked himself even closer. "I've got some stronger – legit – painkillers for when you hafta go. They should set you up just fine for maybe twenty hours or so."  
  
Obscenely grateful for Tré and his offspring, the drummer smiled and shifted up a little, gently tucking Billie's head under his chin and dragging his fingers through the shock of black hair. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted something for what must have been the hundredth time. _Never would've done this with Hetfield._  
  
Never would've had a night like last night with Hetfield, either.  
  
Thoughts like that didn't bother him anymore. He felt no stab of bitterness, no curl of indignance snaking through his system as he would have a month ago, or even two days ago. He didn't think wistfully about what could have been if his old partner had been comfortable with himself, what could have been done in those twenty years of fucked up romance. Lars never liked to look back on the past anyway, and he cared for the act even less when he had such a delectable present and interesting future ahead of him. Why reminisce when you can look forward to more mornings akin to this? With less wounds and cleaner sheets, granted, but the half-conscious haze embracing them was wonderful.  
  
He pressed a kiss into Billie's hair, smelling sweat and hair dye and Billie-ness. "You better be absolutely sure you're okay, or okay _enough_ at the very least, because I don't want to have to dump you on my shoulder and take you to the hospital." A smirk curled his lips again. _Though, regardless of the fact it'd be a private hospital, I'd like to see the faces of the staff when they put two and two together._  
  
"Not high on my list either, believe me," Billie snorted. He could just imagine the hospital's reaction when they figured out that the wild animal who'd bitten him was also in the room. The thought made him smile and press a kiss to his lover's throat. "It's like – you ever taken a header down the stairs? You feel like one giant bruise. Sore as hell and achy but it ain't gonna kill you."  
  
The warm cocoon of body heat and the blanket that had migrated over them from the floor sometime in the night relaxed him and added to the dampening effect of the medication. "I saw…I was up a few hours ago, and the bites, they um, they looked scabbed over well enough. Some Neosporin later should be it, other than time." Billie sighed, settling closer. "It'll take a little for me to, you know, get used to it, too. A tattoo, for all that it's highly visible, is kinda private. No one else knows exactly why you got that bit of art placed on your body just from looking at it. But that is… Anyone who sees me without a shirt is gonna know what it is, you know, that it's sexual. That I like it rough. That I let someone mark the fuck out of me."  
  
His hand rubbed the smooth skin of the drummer's back, absently seeking what was now a contrast to his own body, and he shrugged, knowing Lars would be able to feel it. "I can't deny there's part of me that likes that idea. S'gonna be an adjustment is all. But I don't have any regrets."  
  
Billie drifted nearer and nearer to sleep, and he was on the verge of succumbing when it occurred to him that he'd called Mike from his lover's bed the morning after being fucked unconscious and it hadn't felt weird, or awkward, or anything. It had simply been a phone call to a friend and bandmate, and that was precisely how their conversation had gone, even though the bassist had known Billie would be spending the night at Lars's. What that meant hadn't mattered – because it _didn't_ matter anymore, not in that context, not to either one of them. A little weight he hadn't known he still carried lifted at this new understanding.  
  
He mouthed the Dane's collarbone with a contented hum, feeling pretty fucking good in spite of his aches and pains and the knowledge that this would be their last indolent morning-after together for a while. Probably for the best, really; by the time they got to see each other again, he would be fully healed and ready for anything. The corners of his mouth turned up. "I ever tell you that you taste beautiful?" His smile grew at the laugh that got him then turned into a massive yawn that had him zooming away from all awareness. "Night, Uli."  
  
Even as the nickname left his lips, Billie was asleep.  
  
"So tasting Danish means tasting beautiful?" Lars mused quietly to himself as Billie's breathing evened out. After a moment, he smiled. A corner of his mind bizarrely began drawing comparisons between himself and Danish bacon, or pastries, or Carlsberg beer, and he was forced to swallow a snigger at the absurdity of such thoughts. C _lars_ berg beer, perhaps? Pfft.   
  
His thoughts strayed to more serious matters, and what Billie had said about the marks on his back. Curiosity piqued, Lars wondered how they looked after this many hours of healing. He wondered how they'd look once they'd healed completely, the network of scar tissue draped over Billie's back. He had his own aches and pains at this early hour, but compared to the state Billie was in, he had no right to complain about a pulled muscle or two and some bruises. Though, thinking about it, he probably would still bitch and moan if he was with anyone else but his lover. Hmm. Interesting. Phil would have probably had a field day with something like that.  
  
Oh, wow, Phil. If the besweatered performance coach had been around to see this, if Billie had become involved, _tangled_ in all the issues of four years ago… What the hell would Phil make of the bites, the marks Lars had bestowed upon Billie's body? Well, considering way back then the drummer had been stewing in anger and resentment, and taking into consideration Billie's willing participation in the marking, the guy might've thought it was a positive outlet for his frustration, sexual and otherwise. Perhaps a way of getting out his anger without – psychologically, anyway – hurting anybody and ensuring that both of the participants derived pleasure from it. Not exactly conventional, but the bottom line was, they were both happy. Lars himself wasn't exactly sure how much he'd agree with the 'outlet of anger' part – he'd like to think of himself as pretty mellow nowadays – and when he really thought about the marks themselves, a streak of possessiveness unfurled and licked at the pit of his stomach, drawing a wide smile from his lips. _Mine. Every time you take off your shirt, or stretch up to reach something on a high shelf, or get a little too into that jerk-off bit you do at your shows, people are going to see and they're going to know that you've been marked by someone, that you belong to someone. Let them speculate who. Because I'll know, and the important people will know. Mine._  
  
Wonder what Phil would make of _that_.  
  
Billie made a small noise in his sleep; Lars stroked his thumb over his lover's shoulder. Fuck all the psychobabble. They were both happy. _Nothing else matters._  
  
Sweet fuck, did he actually just think that? If he wasn't tangled up in punk rocker, he'd go out and shoot himself. For that moment, though, he settled for an almighty eyeroll and settled in to let Billie's breathing lull him back to sleep. He gave a deep sigh.  
  
 _Min skat._


	13. Chapter 13

The roar of the crowd as they emerged onstage made Billie Joe grin. Ten years ago, he would never have predicted that he'd actually miss being in the media spotlight, at least a little bit, but here and now he drank it in and it made him almost giddy. Green Day had laid low the past few months, writing and recording. Billie missed performing, too. But that wasn't on the books for tonight, and his partner onstage wasn't a bandmate. Or not one of his bandmates, anyway. For all he knew, they were at home watching him on TV. They'd discussed his participation, decided it was okay, and that had been that.  
  
He shot a sidelong glance at Lars, smile widening at his obvious pleasure in the attention. Fuck, they were so much alike in some ways. And the drummer was the one responsible for this unprecedented public appearance; how, exactly, he hadn't said and Billie had not asked. Just standing on the same stage, legitimately thrown together to present an MTV Movie Award for Best Song or Soundtrack or whatever the fuck it was, made his stomach tremble and his skin burn because no one knew. Not the throng of fans in the back nor the movie stars in the audience – not one person in this building even suspected that less than half an hour ago Lars had had two lubed fingers fucking Billie's ass just long enough to drive him crazy. Supposed to calm him down, he'd said, take his mind off his public speaking duties. Help him forget that while he was in his element when performing as Billie Joe Armstrong, Rock Star, he got really fucking nervous in front of an audience when he had to be simply Billie Joe Armstrong, musician.  
  
Billie had to admit that the throb of his erection trapped in tight jeans did in fact distract him considerably. Enough so that he stumbled over the beginning of his prescribed speech, eyes not tracking the teleprompter properly.  
  
"Um…" _That's not right,_ he realised. It wasn't just his nerves; the words were actually different than the ones he'd expected. Billie looked sideways at his lover but he was playing to the crowd, paying no attention to the fact that they'd been sent out for the wrong fucking award.  
  
Okay, well, he was a professional, right? He didn't want to let on that the organisers had fucked up, or not any more than he already had, anyway. He'd just read what was there and pretend like it was all planned.  
  
Billie began to read off the teleprompter, vaguely annoyed that Lars was still showboating even though they'd agreed that he'd read the damn screen and the drummer would proclaim the winner. But a tiny swirl of suspicion unfurled as he reached the end and announced the category.  
  
"And the nominees for Best Kiss are…"  
  
Lars pressed a finger to his puckered lips, eyes comically wide as he silently shushed the audience members who were still screaming and cheering as Billie read from the autocue. Then, just to fuck with that completely, gave his tongue a lightning fast flicker at the audience standing off to the side. It earned him a couple of screams, but he had no illusions about who the girls were really screaming about – it sure as hell wasn't the tubby tub-thumper. As if to back that up, the drummer gestured towards Billie, looking around at the audience, raising his eyebrows and nodding. More screams, loud and numerous enough to make Billie stumble over his words again and laugh. Lars then turned his hands towards himself, keeping the same expression on his face. _Well, what about me?_ A few screams, a few roars from some of the guys. The difference was glaring. Lars gave a dramatic eyeroll that could have been seen from space, gave the audience a dismissive wave and turned away to face the enormo-screens behind them. The lights dimmed onstage and the nominations played.  
  
This was fucking _fun_. Major award shows were usually a drag, with a few notable exceptions – MTV tended to keep things vaguely interesting, he'd only done the Movie Awards once before and it had kept him mostly entertained when he wasn't onstage. This time, though? Whole other ball game. For one, he was presenting an award. For two, he was presenting an award with Billie Joe. And for three, he'd orchestrated this entire thing – with some very bewildered voices on the other end of the phone line as he called up MTV's producers – for one very important reason that nobody else knew about. Knowing that, and seeing the various looks crossing Billie's face as he began to compute, was what made this fucking _fun_. Plus, the little fumble he and his lover had had backstage had his stomach swirling pleasantly.  
  
There it was, the key nomination in all this, greeted by a huge shriek from the ladies in the audience. Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal. _Brokeback Mountain_. He exchanged a glance with Billie as it played, giving a positively virtuous shrug in the face of narrowed hazel eyes. 'What?' he mouthed soundlessly. _Of course I don't know anything about this. Of course they fucked up. Of course there's a passionate gay kiss playing out on that screen and we're super-secret gay lovers presenting the award. Of_ course _nothing's going to happen._  
  
The lights went back up to the sound of applause, and the two of them turned back to the mic. Lars grinned and adjusted his trilby before speaking.  
  
"What do you think, huh? Huh?" More cheers and applause. He nodded in approval. _I wonder how many people are watching this._ "Pretty okay. You know, if I may, um, deviate from what the teleprompter's telling me to say for a second or two – _Brokeback Mountain_." Pause, screams. Lars chuckled. _I wonder if I'm gonna get a phone call from Kirk in about three minutes._ "Yeah, that one. The gay kiss. It's been nominated and obviously a lot of you guys must've voted for it, and that's a very cool thing. But you know what?" A sizeable pause, and he shook his head. _I wonder if we'll make it into the newspapers._ "I don't think it was all that, as the kids say."  
  
Lars could feel Billie's eyes practically boring into him, but he didn't dare look. If Billie hadn't figured it out yet, then the merest of mischievous glances from vibrant green eyes would surely give the game away. Quizzical sounds from the audience, and finally the Dane held up his hand, index finger aloft. "Hold onto that thought."  
  
With that, Lars removed his hat, hung it on the mic, and slipped an arm around Billie's waist, tugging him close. A wicked smirk and a flash of heated green were the last warnings he gave before he dipped his lover and captured his lips in a deep kiss. The deafening collective shriek from the stunned audience washed away as he sunk himself into the headspinning rhythm and familiar warmth.  
  
The clips of the nominated films played out almost as if they were in slow motion for Billie. He didn't really notice the varied response from the crowd until it spiked at the fourth one. _Brokeback Mountain._ A violent, fiery kiss between two men.  
  
Billie had been kissed like that. He spared a moment for deep gratitude that his own wife's response to seeing him pressed against the wall by his male lover had been amusement and acceptance. Then he turned a sharp gaze on that lover, whose exaggerated innocent act served only to solidify the growing certainty. He remembered words spoken in a hotel room where the crazy attraction between them had shifted into the beginnings of a relationship – and he remembered giving blanket consent.  
  
 _I feel like we could make out live onstage at the Superbowl and nobody would think it meant anything. It's all fucking crazy and I love it._  
  
 _Feel free to tongue-fuck me in public all you want. I'm all about pushing people's buttons._  
  
He watched Lars step up to the mic, effortlessly improvising, and one thought kept running through his mind. _We're on TV. We're on fucking MTV with a couple million people watching and he's going to kiss me._ He's going to kiss me. _On TV._  
  
And then his back was arching, one strong arm around his waist, other palm flattened between and just below his shoulderblades for support. Right over long-healed scar tissue with an agile pinky finger rubbing at the slightly textured skin in a gesture that shouted, 'Mine', as unmistakably as the tongue invading his mouth did.  
  
Would the audience pick up on that? No. They'd see two guys who were known shit-disturbers doing exactly that. But Billie knew, of course, and so did his body as he eagerly returned the kiss. He felt Lars's mouth back off a little, just enough so that the sinuous twist of tongue would be clearly visible and he realised with a shiver that this had lasted long enough for someone to have gotten a good photograph. Several of them, even, and he suspected they would be plastered all over the front of every entertainment section in tomorrow's newspapers – and all over the Internet within a couple of hours.  
  
He had never been more glad that they didn't wear personal mics because he couldn't hold back the soft moan that thought inspired. It seemed to be the signal his lover had been waiting for. Billie found himself drawn back upright – a move he appreciated because if Lars had just let go, he was pretty sure he'd have fallen right onto the floor – though the drummer's arm remained around his waist as they stepped towards the podium in tandem, Billie tilting his head to one side and skritching the back of his head with a smile that was part sheepish, part smug.  
  
For all that he'd melted right into that kiss and his head was still spinning, not to mention the erection that now verged on painful, Billie Joe could think fast when he had to and he recalled watching this very award on this show last year and how excited Adrienne had been about the display put on by the winners. _Hope she doesn't kill me for this one._  
  
Smile widening, he leaned closer to the mic and offered, "Somebody had to one-up those kids from _The Notebook_."  
  
 _Wonder what all the metalheads will think of that,_ Lars thought as he adjusted his hat back on his head, giving a snicker at Billie's words. _Faaaags,_ came the inner venomous sneer in reply to his own thought, which only served to twist out an even bigger, filthier smirk from his still tingling lips.  
  
 _Yeah, fags that are getting better sex than they'll ever know._  
  
As the incredulous laughter and scattered applause faded, Lars added his own two cents. "Though I think we're a little way off the Madonna and Britney thing." He pointed to Billie. "He's not wearing a wedding dress, for one. But anyway, let's get on with this so we can all get drunk, alright?" Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, he tugged the purple envelope free. "Okay, and the winners for best kiss are _not_ Billie Joe Armstrong and Lars Ulrich, but…"  
  
He pried open the envelope and blinked, before dissolving into giggles. He flashed a brilliant grin. "Well, you'll never guess. Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal, _Brokeback Mountain_."  
  
Everything past 'Ledger' had been drowned out by cheers and ovation.  
  
Jake, alone and grinning somewhat sheepishly, took to the stage and shook their hands, receiving the Golden Popcorn from Billie and a teasing eyebrow waggle from Lars. The two of them backed off into the shadows as the actor began his speech, opening it with something along the lines of, 'How am I supposed to follow that?'  
  
You couldn't have smacked the smile from Lars's face if you tried. Not paying attention to Jake's words, he focussed on the electricity in his veins and the butterflies in his stomach. _Fuck_ , what a rush. _What a rush._ Laying claim to Billie in front of millions of people who didn't have the faintest fucking clue of the significance. He wondered fleetingly what James would think of such a display. Fuck it, the guy probably wasn't even watching. Lars smiled even wider and looked at his lover while the attention was off them. He leaned over to speak.  
  
"Hope you didn't mind the little change of plan there. Guess you can never rely on live shows to have shit go as planned, huh?" Another dazzling grin, and he looked back towards Jake. Something caught the glare of the spotlight and reflected it off the young man's back, and the drummer looked down to realise that it was his dog tag. Automatically, his hand drifted up to grasp and tug on it a little, a small habit he'd picked up in the months since he'd started wearing it. The chain bit into the back of his neck a little if he tugged it hard enough, which felt good. It reminded him of the very first time he'd put it on, when Billie had indeed made good on the statement that he'd hang onto the chain while he was fucked mercilessly into the couch. Heh.  
  
Then, suddenly, as the cold of the metal began to seep into his palm, an excited voice whispered in his mind.  
  
 _Do it! Do it!_  
  
A moment for the realisation that he _was_ going to do it to flatten over his back and leave him oddly calm, and as Jake's speech was winding down, Lars leaned over again and murmured into Billie's ear, just loud enough for him to hear.  
  
"Oh, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed, I've fallen in love with you."  
  
He smirked, and it was a small, warm, even rather bashful thing, green eyes alight and dancing with far more than giddy excitement, and he looked back to the fore just as the applause surged back into life.  
  
Billie rolled his eyes at the 'little change of plan' comment but didn't say anything. He watched Lars play with the platinum tag and a soft smile eased onto his face that belied the multi-levelled excitement currently imbuing him after that in-your-face, completely fucking public kiss. The drummer's developing habit of tugging at the dog tag reminded Billie of his own more long-standing habit of ghosting over the small scar at the base of his throat. He wondered idly if the words etched onto the silvery rectangle ever seared Lars's fingers the way handling the marks etched onto his body did Billie's. It wouldn't be precisely the same since Billie felt them both on his fingertips and on his skin, but it was an interesting thought nonetheless. Did the feel of the damaged metal touch something in his lover?  
  
It had taken Billie a long time to decide what to engrave. In the end, serendipity had played a large role. Someone had left the TV at home on one music channel or another, and when he'd flicked it on, it had been partway through _One_.  
  
Metallica's first music video, it had kicked up a shitstorm for the band when released and Billie'd had a grudging respect for it even as he derided its existence at the time – but when _Longview_ began to get heavy rotation on MTV and Green Day had already been tossed out of the underground community forever, he'd watched the other band's video again and taken comfort in the fact that they were still a band. That whatever had been thrown at them over moving into a new area, they'd weathered. He'd been more confident that his band could do it because someone else's already had.  
  
One. Short for 'The One', if you wanted to get corny about it. Indicative of the fact that Billie had willingly and gladly committed himself to one man and there would be no one else ever again. That Lars was that man. In English on one side and repeated in Danish on the other, the deceptively simple phrase spoke far more than its few letters implied to anyone who didn't know.  
  
Lars's breath against his ear brought Billie's attention back to the present and he leaned closer to listen to what the drummer was saying. When it penetrated he fought the need to whip his head around to stare in disbelief. "What?" His reply went unheard in the resurgence of audience noise and he belatedly followed Lars out of the shadows to meet Jake and escort him backstage, his mind whirling behind the automatic smile he gave the actor. Billie finally saw the expression on his boyfriend's face – the intimate warmth in green eyes – and they convinced him that he hadn't imagined the words. _I've fallen in love with you._  
  
By the time they reached the green room, that perfunctory smile had become huge and brilliant. Hazels shone invitingly at Lars. "Are we done here?" Mischief just barely tempered impatience enough for him to give a publicly acceptable explanation. "You did say let's get on with it so we could all get drunk, right? So let's go."  
  
He needed to get Lars alone, and soon.  
  
Lars glanced around at the runners and assistants scurrying around, talking into their headsets or walkie-talkies and keeping the madness just barely under control. Jake had already been shooed back to his seat, nominated for other awards as he was. Finally his gaze swung back around to Billie, devilish twinkle in his eyes.  
  
"Oh, you wanna go get _drunk_ , huh?" he drawled, sidling close. "You wanna go get so _drunk_ you can't even see straight? So totally, utterly, completely, satisfyingly _drunk_ that you can't walk, can't move, and you just wanna pass out in your bed because you just can't _drink_ any more and you just feel," he moved even closer, until his hip brushed up the erection he knew was there, trapped in tight jeans. The rest of his sentence unfurled in a purr, "that damn _good_?"  
  
A beat, long enough to hear Billie just barely stifle a groan, and Lars moved away again, hands slipping into his pockets and unmistakable swagger in his gait as he moseyed towards the corridor that led out to the entrance and waiting transport.   
  
"That's a pity. I wanted to have sex."  
  
One stifling, frustratingly slow limo ride later, and the pair of them were scuttling up the steps of their Los Angeles hotel, not getting much more than a sideways glance from other guests, despite the fact that Lars was firmly grasping Billie's hand as they practically ran across the foyer. Mercifully, they got an elevator all to themselves.  
  
The doors swooshed closed, and the drummer's eyes swept from the ascending numbers to his lover. Colour stained his cheeks, not just from the sudden exercise, and he gave a coy little grin, tongue swiping over his top lip, green fire flickering. But despite himself and the attitude he exuded, butterflies were now kicking off a riot in his stomach. Well, he'd finally _said it_ , hadn't he? The first time he'd said something like that to anyone in a long time. Not exactly a confession, and not done in a way that wasn't unmistakably Larsian, but because of it he couldn't allow himself to make the first move, not this time. They were alone, he didn't need to put on an arrogant front, and he needed a little more from Billie besides a dazzling smile and a coded request to get back to their hotel room.  
  
Lars bit his bottom lip and smiled again, leaning against the mirrored wall and speaking softly. His skin tingled. "Are you gonna get over here and kiss me?"  
  
Billie watched his boyfriend flush and twitch, holding in a smile. Fuck, he was cute. He did smile at the last question, its irritability dulled by the almost tentative tone. It seemed like a distorted echo of that moment in his basement studio when they'd finally figured their shit out and Billie had been the one asking for a kiss. Needing his lover to reassure him that what he'd said was okay.  
  
He moved to stand in front of Lars, hazel boring into green for a long moment, and then his hands rose to thread into curling brown hair, tilting the hat out of the way as he fastened his mouth to his lover's. Hips pressed into hips, trapping the drummer against the elevator wall and for a dizzying moment Billie wanted to really push, take, consume Lars right here and watch it in the mirror as it happened. Instead he made a last aggressive sweep through a sweet mouth and backed off, resting his forehead against Lars's.  
  
"You're fucking impossible, you know that? Setting me up in front of millions of people, on goddamned TV, and then dropping that extra little bomb when you know I can't say anything back right then. Asshole." He stole another kiss and slipped one hand down the drummer's torso, giving the dog tag a quick, hard tug along the way and then cupping his lover's groin, rubbing insistently until the erection under his fingers matched the one in his pants.  
  
"Crazy fucker." More kisses followed that, hand still working though gently now. "And yeah, I had noticed but it was good to hear. Really good," he admitted, pulling back to meet green eyes with a grin. "I love you, Uli."  
  
Drumstick callused hands went to a lithe waist as Lars was pinned, his lover effortlessly taking the reins for a kiss that made him lightheaded. His fingers danced over Billie's back and smoothed over his shirt, beneath which scarred skin lay, and his visible amusement at the younger man's opening words slid into open pleasure at the pinch of chain and the hard caress of a wicked hand. The initial shudder of breath he gave was followed with a filthy smirk, and he rocked his hips into that hand with relish. Then Billie kissed him again, and again, and again, and by the time hazel eyes found him and those three little words reached his ears, those butterflies inside him had exhausted themselves and been replaced with the languid spread of heat. Only there was one very significant difference between that feeling then and how it would have been six or seven months back – it wasn't just pure lust stirring there anymore.  
  
He grinned wide, lips belying his heavy-lidded, dilated eyes. "What do you think, huh? Should my very first tattoo be, um, one of those red hearts with a scroll of your name across it and an arrow through it? Right on here?" He indicated to his right bicep, continuing with the light teasing. "Or maybe I should get my right nipple pierced and name it after you. Actually, that's a level of creepiness that I'm not comfortable with."  
  
He let out a soft groan and rocked his hips hard enough for the back of Billie's hand to brush against his own erection, before leaning forward to claim his own delicious kiss. A quiet ping, and the doors slid open to an empty hall. Thank fuck for that, because it was a few moments before either of them noticed that the elevator had even stopped.  
  
 _Fuck, we're like teenagers,_ Lars thought, not for the first time, as they stumbled along to their room, giggling and all over each other. By the time they actually got inside and closed the door on the rest of the world, however, the drummer had sobered a little and decided – oh shit, somebody get the camera – to be genuinely serious for once. He led Billie into the room and took off his hat, throwing it with a flick of the wrist onto his suitcase, and cleared his throat, smoothing his hands over Billie's shirt.   
  
"I love you, and I think I have for quite a long time. Longer than I probably even realise. I felt it a little while before we went on vacation, but when I think about it now, I felt it for sure when we were on the veranda and you told me about your father and-and I had that little moment, I guess you could call it, and told you I needed an anchor. There was something there then, for sure.  
  
"I've opened up to you a lot, Billie, and that might not seem like too much of a big deal, but you should understand – I don't open up to people, I honestly don't. I've told you, when I have a lot going on in my head, I get really introverted, because most people just don't need to hear about my problems, it's easier on everybody if I just smile and say, 'I'm fine', when I'm not. I only talk about shit like that with the people in my life that I trust and that I love. That night on the veranda, I opened up, yeah. But that first time I came over for dinner at your house, I spilled my fucking _guts_ out. I have never, _ever_ done that before to that extent, not ever.  
  
"But honestly, I think I need to go even further back to really, um, adequately explain to you how I feel." Lars took a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes falling unconsciously to where that thundercloud lay on Billie's chest. His voice grew quieter. "When James came over for that talk all those months ago, he told me in not so many words that he still loved me. Later on he told me that-that if he hadn't already decided to break it off with me, when he walked into that cloakroom and saw you there on the table, he would've hurt you. He acknowledged that I wouldn't have let him, and that I'd have bitten his arm off or something. And I said…I said that if he'd hurt you, I'd have done worse than that." Intense green flicked up to meet hazel. "Believe that. Right then, I loved him and he loved me, yes – but I'd have choked him if he'd laid a finger on you. Because that night, even way back then and even though I didn't consciously realise it at the time, you meant more to me than James did."  
  
Lars paused for a few seconds to give that statement the weight it deserved. "I love you." He raised a hand and pushed the hair from Billie's eyes, before grasping hold of his dog tag again. _One_. "And I think I started to love you a long time ago."  
  
Words failed Billie. He didn't have an adequate verbal response to what Lars had called an adequate explanation and so he lifted one hand to cup his boyfriend's face, thumb running along the cheekbone, and he leaned in, brushing his mouth against soft, full lips. Delicate, feathery kisses filled with so much tenderness it made his chest ache.  
  
His hand remained there when he withdrew and his eyes stayed closed as he murmured, "I know you don't open up easily. I know you now – not as well as I want to and I will, but I do know you and I've learned a lot about how you normally express yourself. That's what I meant when I said I'd noticed, you know? You hadn't said the words but I felt it from you anyway and I knew."  
  
Eyelashes fluttered as hazel eyes opened to gaze at Lars with incredible warmth. "But that's-that's about now. I knew how you feel about me _now_ and I don't…just because I run around spouting off at the mouth doesn't mean I'd ever expect that from you. I mean that would be dumb. But I didn't – that stuff about James, about when you talked, how long – I didn't, I wouldn't've guessed, Uli. That's," Billie paused, groping for what he wanted to say. "I don't even know what I'm fucking talking about anymore. It's just – it's good to know all that. Just really fucking good to hear you say that and…fuck."  
  
He cut himself off with a choked laugh and let wide, shining eyes speak for him as he swallowed the persistent lump in his throat. He'd thought about his possible reaction when Lars finally coughed up that little phrase but he'd underestimated its impact by a long shot. Especially with this new knowledge that it hadn't started out as one-sided as Billie had then believed. Taken all together, it almost overwhelmed him.  
  
His hand slipped round to the back of his lover's neck and the other rose to join it as he gathered Lars to him in a tight hug. Arousal had died down to bright embers that would keep – right now he simply needed to hold his boyfriend and absorb what had been said. Though he did manage to mumble, "Don't get a fucking tattoo, ya copycat."  
  
Lars's grip tightened on the dog tag as Billie pulled his body close. The warmth from his hand heated the metal and burned pleasantly, and he could feel the inscription leaving raised letters in his palm. It felt good. He let go only to slide that hand around his lover's back and fully share the embrace that he'd initiated. At first, all he could muster in the face of Billie's emotional, stumbling reaction was a reply to his last muffled words with a slightly nervy laugh.  
  
"I won't. I'm a pussy, remember?"  
  
Rather ironic that by talking about how little he opened up he had once again opened up. It felt odd to have let all that flow out of him, thoughts that hadn't even been fully formed in his head, or thoughts that he hadn't acknowledged yet, at least. It felt odd to be learning things about himself from his own bare honesty. He wasn't sure right then how comfortable he was with that kind of honesty – his mouth did have a tendency to get him into trouble, after all, and sincerity of that nature most certainly had the potential to get him into trouble if he wasn't careful. No, far too much going on upstairs to get to computing that yet.  
  
Green eyes slid closed as he buried his face into his lover's shoulder, pressing his lips together as the linger of Billie's barely there kisses began to fade. He inhaled a scent that was by now merging into his own, it was so familiar. And he raised his head a little to place three kisses along a curve of golden skin that he damn near cherished.  
  
When he raised his head and looked at the younger man, he found himself speaking again. "You set off some spark in me at that awards ceremony – seeing you again, in person instead of in some magazine or on TV, just…I don't know. It did things to me, I got vibes from you that struck deeper than anything I was getting from Hetfield's corner." Interesting that he'd slipped into using James's surname, there. He paused and narrowed his eyes a little, considering his next words. When they emerged, they were coloured with wry amusement. "But I only really, honestly realised how I was feeling about you back at that dinner when I told your wife that I loved you."  
  
Lars had to bite back a smile at Billie's painfully open, bordering on cartoonish expression of shock, eyebrows shooting up and jaw going slack. When the smile fought its way out, it was a sheepish little thing, accompanied by a faint blush and an awkward giggle. "Yeah. I know. I think that's all the revelations I've got for you, I hope you're not disappointed."  
  
"You… She…" Adrienne had known all this time? She'd listened to him gripe and watched him tie himself in knots and she'd – she'd – she'd stayed the fuck out of it, exactly like she said she would. Billie huffed an incredulous laugh. "Goddamned woman, keeping her nose _out_ of things." He shook his head, rueful smile appearing. "I guess I know now what it was you said that convinced her to give you the key to the studio."  
  
He sighed. "I was definitely sending out vibes that night. Soon's Tré rattled off the guest list and I realised you were there, I wanted you." His fingers slid through the longer curls over the nape of Lars's neck, the silken texture calming somehow as it slipped over his skin. "I'd spent a lot of time thinking about you. A lot of time. Almost as much time as I spent convinced that you wouldn't be able to feel that way about me because James would always be first, you know; because I wouldn't measure up to that mythic ideal I thought you had."  
  
Billie contemplated that for a moment and grinned. "Aside from the whole chest at my eye level thing." They both laughed then he nuzzled close. "But I haven't felt like that since dinner that night, you know, the first time you spilled your guts," he teased gently, following the words with a nip at a pierced ear lobe. His fingers tightened in wavy hair possessively. "You're mine now."  
  
Billie's words brushed over Lars's ear and struck him in the chest just right. "I _am_ ," he affirmed. One hand skated down and slipped under his lover's shirt, grazing fingertips over wounds long healed, over scar tissue long formed. The marks had taken a good while to heal completely, and though he never let on a small part of Lars felt tremendous regret for not being there for Billie while they did, while the frontman was no doubt in discomfort and pain. A few nights early on, staring up at the roof of his bunk as the bus travelled along some endless strip of tarmac to the next festival site, his mind would be on the image of cleaning the wounds that re-opened, changing bandages, soothing hurts and tending to his lover. Caring for someone who let himself be cared for. Some nights it had gnawed at his gut, some nights he was just…wistful, or something. Every night he'd called Billie to see how he was. Without fail.  
  
He traced the mark of his own teeth in Billie's flesh with a fingertip, then a nail. "And we've established who you belong to, right?" he murmured against a smooth jaw, following it with a kiss.  
  
A thought bubbled up inside him as he went over what the younger man had said. _Mythic ideal, huh?_ Sure, for twenty years, that was all Lars really knew – James became his ideal man practically by default. Funny how when Lars was exposed to what turned out to be his true ideal in Billie, his eyes were opened to everything James wasn't. Everything James had unwittingly – or perhaps wilfully, the Dane had no idea – put out of bounds in their relationship because, it turned out, he wasn't comfortable with his attraction, it all had a knock-on effect for Lars's own behaviour and sexuality. What had burned Lars the most out of the entire dissolution, though, was that James had as always taken total control of their relationship and ended it. Foregone conclusion, no discussion, no compromise, had already decided it months before letting him know. He'd already made their minds up. If Lars hadn't been so broken up over it, and if he hadn't had the relationship with Billie develop in its place, the split might have been far more acrimonious and maybe even had serious repercussions for the band. Did Billie Joe save Metallica? Who the fuck knows, but it was possible. After a few moments of silent deliberation on all this, he spoke, chin resting on his lover's shoulder.  
  
"Billie, you might look at Hetfield and see the one hundred percent manliest man that ever walked the earth, but in some ways, you've been more of a real man about all this than he ever was." Lars didn't follow that with a grin or a joke, because as corny as it may have sounded, he meant it. No scowl flitted across his face as it might have before; simply something that he felt needed to be said, so he said it, and nothing more.  
  
He pulled his head back and smiled. When the smile was returned, the hands at Billie's back smoothed down to slide fingers behind the waistband of tight black jeans, stroking at pale flesh. A distinctive growl leaked into his voice as he spoke. "It felt so fucking awesome to kiss you like that in front of all those millions of people, when they really have no idea at all." He paused to claim a full, slow kiss. "Felt so _good_ to show them that you're _mine_." Green eyes sparked.  
  
Billie responded with another kiss, murmuring agreement with an occupied mouth while his skin tingled to life under the light finger strokes just inside his jeans. "It _was_ good," he acknowledged when they halted for breath. "We'll have to watch it when we get back home; I set the TiVo. Didn't know that's what I'd be recording, though." He grinned, smile lines crinkling around hazel eyes, arms winding tighter around his boyfriend as he thought briefly about his physical evidence of the Dane's mighty possessive streak.  
  
He hadn't – would never – tell Lars how bad it had gotten after Metallica had set out on tour. Adrienne had been _pissed_ at first, then mostly understanding, and then angry again when Billie had refused to get the healed marks lasered or something to make them less distinct. He'd done so for a few reasons: it didn't feel honest or respectful of their relationship to erase or blur something that big that had happened between them, plus a visceral corner of himself enjoyed the marks – enjoyed the blatant ownership, the constant reminder of it, the implications thereof; and then there was his conviction that despite what had been said about it being a one-off, despite Billie believing that, his gut knew that for whatever reason, Lars needed that overtness. And if Billie had removed that set of marks, at some point he would have gained another one. Pure instinct made him sure of it.  
  
Pure stubbornness had gotten him through that Thursday morning recording session. He'd worn double layers of black knowing that the bottom shirt would be stuck to him with blood sooner or later. By the end of the practice he had wanted to crawl off and die somewhere it hurt so fucking much. Tré had taken over, dragging Billie back to his place for the next few days and playing nursemaid until the worst of it was over. He hadn't asked if the painkillers his drummer had fed him were legal or not. They'd worked and that was all he'd cared about. Billie had spent the majority of his time asleep; healing. Slower than he would have expected and not without its share of difficulties thanks to the amount of bacteria in the average human mouth, but he had healed. And then he and his wife had become reacquainted with the changed landscape of his body.   
  
He'd known that Adie had made her own peace with it when she compared the patchy train tracks on his back to the stretch marks two pregnancies had inflicted on her skin and remarked that some things were worth it.  
  
Bringing his mind back to the man in front of him, Billie squeezed him hard and then stepped back with a swift kiss. "You wanna get out of here for a while? Maybe go actually get drunk?" A crooked grin accompanied raised eyebrows. "You can always fuck my brains out when we get back."  
  
"Thanks for the suggestion, I'll keep it in mind," Lars replied, amused. His brow furrowed in thought as he strolled over to the window, looking out at the illuminated sprawl of the humid, heavy Los Angeles night. He folded his arms and rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip. "I know a couple of bars that maybe…" he trailed off, dissatisfied with the idea of just going to some bar. They were in L.A., after all, and despite remaining adamant after all these years that the city and most of the people in it sucked, he had to admit that there were a few really nice, classy hangouts among the fleapits and celeb-spots. Lars could most certainly do classy. 'Some bar' simply wouldn't suffice tonight.  
  
He squinted down at all the cars, the twin red or white lights zipping along irradiated streets like artificial fireflies. A horn blasted somewhere. Then, inspiration struck him, lighting up his eyes, and he pulled out his cell phone.  
  
"Is that Carla? Hey, lady, it's been a while – it's your favourite Dane, ha ha. Yeah, we bailed on the awards. Oh, you saw that, huh?" He flashed a grin at Billie. "What did you think? Well, you know, the boat hasn't been rocked in a while. Yeah. How busy are you guys tonight? Really? Okay, well, we'll see you in maybe fifteen minutes. Alright. Later."  
  
 _Click_. Lars turned and picked up his hat, setting it back on his head. He tugged at the rim as he approached Billie, smirk pulling at his lips.   
  
"How about we go play some pool?"  
  
The far more humble taxi cab was their mode of transportation this time, and as it pulled away from them into the night, Lars cocked his head towards the sizeable building. From a distance it looked suspiciously like a plain old warehouse to the uninformed, and Billie's eyes said exactly that as the two of them drew closer to it. _It's a fuckin' warehouse._ The cinched curtains and warm light leaking out from the windows, however, told a different story to the outside. A hugely different story.  
  
Somewhat gallantly, Lars pulled the door open and gestured for Billie to go first. "I take it you've never been here before?"  
  
'Here' turned out to be a huge, luxuriously appointed room that reminded Billie Joe of nothing so much as a turn-of-the-century gentleman's club. That would be, _last_ century. The far end housed a fully stocked bar, copper and steel surface gleaming in front of rows of bottles resting on hewn wood. The incredulous thought popped in his head that it was a place meant for smoking cigars and sipping Scotch, and then he had to control a double take when his gaze encountered an older Mexican woman calmly hand-rolling cigars at a small table opposite the bar, black hair pulled up in a formal style to match her cocktail dress, as though his notion had conjured her from thin air.  
  
Billie almost asked Lars if he'd heard correctly about going somewhere to play pool, except that there were, in fact, pool tables. Gorgeous antique ones, with black-suited attendants just like the dealers at high stakes tables in Vegas casinos. Not that Billie had done a lot of gambling, but they'd all played around a little bit for fun.  
  
This definitely wasn't someplace where you drank beer from the bottle and dropped a couple bucks into a coin-operated table and hoped it spit out all the billiard balls from the last round. This was unlike anywhere he'd been before.  
  
"Uh, no. Never been. Never heard of it. I guess you've been here a lot though, huh?" he added with a smile as an Amazonian woman with an equally big grin headed their way, eyes locked on his boyfriend. Billie kept his hands at his sides, stubbornly refusing to either adjust the fuck out of his tie or shove his hands in his pockets. His jeans pockets. Jesus, you'd think Lars could have told him to change his pants for this kind of place, even if the black shirt and vest were appropriate enough.  
  
He watched the attendant at the largest table rack the balls for the group of four playing there; perhaps a few dozen other people were scattered throughout, talking and drinking. No one paid them any attention and Billie had to admit that that was nice. It occurred to him that it was almost like a reverse echo of the night they'd met. Classy bar where someone knew at least one of them, which they'd deliberately come to together, but where they could still be essentially anonymous. The idea was appealing. And his inner mutterings about his jeans aside, the atmosphere wasn't stuffy or stuck up. It spoke more of indulgence of the senses; the pursuit of pleasure for its own sake. Hedonism, in a word.  
  
His smile widened. Yeah, he could see why Lars liked it here.  
  
"I've been here a couple times, yeah," Lars replied, grinning as Carla approached. She was almost a foot taller than him – she was taller than James, for fuck's sake – and bent to exchange a kiss on the cheek and a hug with the drummer.  
  
"How have you been? It's been, like, three years!" she exclaimed, brown eyes warm and bright. "Have you been good?"  
  
"Sure, you could say I've had a pretty good time of it," Lars replied. "Busy, but pretty fuckin' good. You?"  
  
Carla nodded, clearly not willing to go into detail right then as her gaze moved to Billie, looking him over before looking back to Lars. Her grin switched from enthusiastic to sly as she cocked her head towards Billie. "This your boyfriend?"  
  
"Oh yeah. He's my boy," Lars drawled, smirking. He leaned a little closer to his lover, unconsciously for the most part. Carla stretched out a hand towards Billie.  
  
"Hey, I'm Carla. And you're Billie Joe," she stated before the younger man could speak, shaking his hand firmly. "I saw one of your shows last year, the Home Depot Center, it was awesome. I like you."  
  
Lars didn't fail to notice how she had specified the man rather than the band, which made him smirk even more as Billie thanked her a little bashfully. He shouldered off his jacket and draped it over his forearm, tugging his T-shirt down. Green eyes scanned the sumptuously decorated room. "What table are we taking?"  
  
Tearing her eyes away from Billie, Carla held up her hands. "Don't worry, all taken care of. We've opened up the Chenier for you guys."  
  
As the three of them walked through the expansive floor, she explained to Billie what she'd had set up. "The Chenier is the room in the back, it's the smallest room here and we don't normally open it up unless it's busy or there's a special function with a lot of people. We made an exception for you guys. It'll only be open to you, you'll get a table attendant and the bar is right next door, first round is on the house." She stopped in the doorway of their private room. "Now, I'm serving in the main room so I probably won't be able to see much of you, but trust me when I say you'll be served well here."  
  
Lars bowed his head graciously. "Thank you very much, and I bet you've been practising all that since I called." He received a playful scowl in reply. Carla smiled winningly at Billie once again. "Seriously, we'll take good care of you. And, um, we're really glad to have you here, Billie."  
  
With a poorly stifled excited giggle she was off, striding back through to the main room with a step that could be described as vivacious. Lars raised an eyebrow at his lover. "Someone's got a fan. Fan being an inadequate term." He tugged at his T-shirt, feigning worry. "Now what do you think, am I overdressed?"  
  
"Oh, fuck off. You look great." Obviously Billie's moment of discomfort hadn't gone unnoticed. He smiled at the waiting attendant, who took their jackets and their drink order and disappeared. Billie touched Lars's arm.  
  
"You've known her a while, huh? And she knew about, you know, you and James, didn't she?" It was the only reason he could think of that explained her immediate interpretation that Billie was Lars's boyfriend. _Oh yeah. He's my boy._  
  
The easy affirmative had set off fluttering in Billie Joe's stomach. They didn't get to acknowledge each other openly most of the time; that was part of the price of their relationship. Even when they did, his lover had never phrased it like that before and it shot a crazy little thrill through him to hear it.  
  
He nodded at the beautiful pool table, awash in brighter light than the flickering dimness of the rest of the sage and brick room, bamboo shades obscuring the night beyond the expansive windows. Though still luxurious, the Chenier was a little more rustic in appearance and it felt like a better fit than the sheer opulence of the main room. Billie chose a cue from the rack on the wall and chalked the end. He smirked at Lars as he waved grandly at the neatly racked triangle of colourful billiards balls to indicate that the drummer could break. "Age before beauty."  
  
Smirk became grin at Lars's answering huff and Billie flicked his tongue at his lover, eyes sparkling impishly. "That's what you get for calling me _boy_."  
  
"Not age, wisdom," Lars corrected, sidling close and swiping Billie's cue. "Wisdom before beauty. And I'm gonna take that as acknowledgement that you're a prettyboy." He gave a grin of his own at the spark of indignance that went off in hazel eyes, obviously knowing Billie didn't get on so well with that term. And even more obviously, Lars would keep using it. Not to grating effect or anything, but hell, it was several hundred miles better than slut.  
  
The drummer carefully lifted the rack away and sauntered to the other end of the table, bending to take his shot. "As for Carla," he stopped mid-sentence to strike, pausing further after the satisfying crack until one of the balls sunk. "Stripes! Um, as for Carla, I really have no idea if she knew about me and James." He gave a wry chuckle, eyes raising to look at Billie. "I certainly didn't tell her, and you can bet James didn't. But we've been here quite a few times since, I don't know, late eighties? Maybe I was a little more handsy than I should have been one night or something, and she caught on. All credit to her, you know, she's never asked me outright about it, just made dumb little jokes, little nudge-nudge sort of things. But I really don't know. We both always sort of play along with each other, and I guess we're going to continue that tradition."   
  
He attempted a second shot, giving a little snort as the ball reflected just left of the pocket. His voice dropped a little as he approached his lover. "Even if she does know, or if she sees us fooling around, I've known her for long enough that I can trust her with that kind of shit." He smiled, feeling a little swell of something akin to pride in his chest. "Felt good to say it, though. To say it and have it be true, whether she realises it or not."  
  
He leaned forward for a brief kiss, then cocked his head toward the table. "Take your shot already. We don't wanna be shooting pool all night, do we?"  
  
"We don't?" Billie inquired, blinking innocently. He bent forward, sliding the cue between his fingers to line up his shot, and smiled oh so sweetly. "I don't know, dude. I kinda like it here. Maybe we _could_ stay all night."  
  
His smile widened at the soft thud of the ball disappearing into the pocket and he flattened his palms on the felted surface of the table. "When we get tired of playing we could fuck right here. Nice, sturdy furniture; soft finish." Billie Joe picked up the cue and moved to aim at his next ball. He nodded at a nearby grouping of distressed leather armchairs. "Somewhere cushy to sleep if we get tired. A guy bringing us drinks."  
  
The third shot missed and Billie straightened, stepping right into his lover's personal space with mischief radiating from him. He knew perfectly well that he was playing with fire. That old proverb was the first thing Adrienne had said to him when he'd come home bitten all to hell: that playing with fire would get you burned. It had…and he was still doing it. Still addicted to that elevated level of risk within the context of safety, because even in the heated rush Lars would respect a 'no'. Billie trusted that – trusted Lars.  
  
He caressed the drummer's fingers as he passed over the cue, making the conscious decision to indulge instinct and torment his boyfriend with flirting; teasing touches and looks; maddening words and movements. Perhaps it was that kiss that prompted the urge, pushing harder at the 'hiding in plain sight' motif the older man had set in motion. Or it could be as simple as the fact that he felt like it.  
  
"'Course, it might seem pretty fucking tame after slipping me the tongue on national television." He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it a second later, wet and shining. "I believe it's your turn, O Wise One."  
  
Glittering green eyes narrowed at the taunting frontman, but the almost admiring smirk beneath them said that the scowl wasn't a malicious one. _Oh, okay, so that's how it's going to be tonight, huh?_ Lars tossed the cue from one hand to the other, simply eyeing Billie and letting the electricity flow between them. Finally he spoke as he left Billie's side.  
  
"You are being a provocative asshole. You oughta watch that," he warned, smirk still in place, waving the end of the cue in Billie's direction like an admonishing teacher. "That's my job."  
  
He strolled around the table, fingertips dragging along varnished, dark wood as he sought a good shot, brow furrowed in sudden concentration. He bent and squinted at the cue ball, swivelling his slight form this way and that to decide the most lucrative direction to shoot. No great shock, but Lars could be damn competitive at times. Finding one he thought suitable, the Dane lined up, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he peered along the cue. "'O Wise One', right."  
  
The ball was sunk, and he was getting ready for his second shot as the attendant re-entered the room with their drinks. The drummer paused, bent over the table, and moved his gaze from the sharply dressed worker to Billie, sly grin blooming on his face.  
  
Common sense rang a lone alarm bell in his head right then to rein it in. They could only be so blatant before the wrong person would see the wrong thing, and then it would be all kinds of _E! News Special_.  
  
Obviously this only made his instinct want to push more. He looked back to the table and spoke.  
  
"Besides, it's international television. And was I kissing someone else in front of those cameras? Because I don't recall much 'slipping' going on in the tongue department." He drew the cue back. "If anything I'd say we were tongue _fucking_."  
  
Strike, sink. Score.   
  
Billie nearly inhaled the sip of whiskey at that last blunt pronouncement. Accurate, though, he had to admit to himself. On both counts. Not that he was about to say that aloud. Instead, he waved a hand in airy dismissal of the distinction. "Semantics."  
  
There was something about the way the Dane's tongue curled around the word 'fuck' that always went straight to his cock and now was no exception. Black-rimmed hazels watched as the drummer sank yet another ball, exuding a level of carnal interest that was probably unwise in a public venue, no matter how private their current room was supposed to be. Mind you, Billie didn't actually expect to drop trou and fuck on the table; among other things, it was a priceless antique and he suspected that bodily fluids wouldn't play nicely with the vivid green felt. And then there was that massive risk factor – even flirting in front of the server Carla had handpicked for them held a certain amount of danger.  
  
But he wanted Lars to think about it every time he bent over the gleaming wood. Wanted his lover focussed on him until he couldn't take it anymore and another tense cab ride would end in an explosion back at the hotel.   
  
"Here." Billie traded Lars his drink for the pool cue. Before the drummer could move away, quick fingers dipped into the liquid and snagged an ice cube. He popped it in his mouth and licked the stickiness from his hand. His eyes sparkled. "They definitely stock the good stuff."  
  
He leaned close, lips almost brushing the delicate shell of an ear as he murmured, "Thanks," and ambled around to the far side to play his turn. 'Provocative asshole'? Hell yes. But as he lined up his shot, he realised that this was the first time he'd been this aggressive about it since the night Lars had marked him. He had been…not scared, exactly; more like nervous. Uneasy about what such an explosion might entail while he was still adjusting to the very permanent changes in his body from the last one.   
  
Lars's earlier openness had eased Billie past the last vestiges of his nervousness. Discovering that his boyfriend's feelings had run deep all along altered some fundamental things in his head, proving that Billie's instinct to open himself to this man right from the beginning hadn't been as foolish and self-destructive as he'd once thought. In fact, obeying that instinct might possibly be what had saved them and kept their relationship going in the first place.  
  
Knowing that, _understanding_ it, allowed him to move all the way past the less pleasant aspects of the latticework that devastating mouth had laid across his back. Let him stretch in between shots, arms pulling forward a bit, just enough to make his shirt ride up past what he now thought of as the waterline and expose the bottom couple of scars as he leaned down over the table again. Deliberately flashing visible evidence of ownership at his lover, like a neon sign over his ass that shouted, 'Come and get it – you know it's yours'.  
  
Billie grimaced when he missed, but he didn't really care that much. He did have a strong competitive streak, but, well, pool wasn't the game he was currently aiming to win.  
  
Lars's eyes did indeed light up when Billie folded himself over the table, a number of scars winking knowingly up at him. He supposed it was only fair that Billie was being this open, this forward, considering the international display of possession he himself had orchestrated and just completed on live television. He'd let it all slide for now – not to say that he wasn't enjoying the flirtatious sparring, but soon enough he was going to have to show Billie what his behaviour would result in. He had not a little suspicion that the frontman was pushing for just that reason. Heh.  
  
Still, he didn't hold back a little snicker as Billie failed to pot, his inherent asshole streak wiggling with pleasure. Make no mistake, for all his recent changes, Lars could still be a dick when he wanted to, could still search out whatever buttons people had like a bloodhound and push them until they broke. The instinct for that kind of behaviour had faded with age and some would say late-coming maturity, but he still had it in him. He wouldn't be Lars Ulrich without it.  
  
He took a long sip of his drink. Pretty appropriate name, he thought, licking his lips with languid speed as Billie approached him. His lover handed him the cue, and he took another swig before pressing his glass into the other man's chest, right over a certain tattoo. He smiled. "Piranha cocktail."  
  
Becoming more distracted from the pool game despite himself, Lars managed to sink just one ball this time around, his second shot failing thanks to his peripheral vision being in line with Billie's crotch. Light glinted from the younger man's belt buckle as he lined up, and his concentration was lost. He frowned and cursed colourfully in his native tongue as the ball he aimed for didn't even get close to the pocket.  
  
See, that was the problem with having a man like Billie. More to the point, having a man as sexy, as teasing, as mischievous as Billie. It became hard to concentrate on any particular task that wasn't drawing moans from a taunting mouth, or making a seductive little body squirm.  
  
Lars handed the cue over.   
  
"'Ey," he alerted, hooking a finger into the beltloop at Billie's hip and tugging him back towards him. Hip met hip, and as a smirk curved Danish lips, a pinkie finger twisted underneath a crisp black shirt to rub at a low set scar. The green of his eyes switched from glittering to burning. "I hope you've washed your hands recently, dipping into my drink like that." Smirk turned to wolfish grin. "I know where those fingers have been."  
  
"Do you now?" Billie's arch tone made it clear that it wasn't really a question. He stole another ice cube as he handed Lars the drink and two of said fingers accompanied it into his mouth to be slowly and thoroughly suckled. A brief crunch and all that remained was the contrast of a cold tongue against warm skin as Billie withdrew his hand, slicked right to the knuckles of his index and middle fingers. Shining exactly the way his lover's had shortly before they'd gone onstage.  
  
"I wouldn't put 'em in my mouth if they weren't clean. Your drink, maybe," he acknowledged with a grin. Hazel eyes hooded as he continued, "Besides, they haven't been anywhere nearly as interesting as yours."  
  
Dimly Billie knew that this had gone way past what was safe in public; he wasn't sure he cared. No, that wasn't quite right: he cared, but he didn't seem to be able to help it. The drummer's smug little spectacle – not to mention the way he'd dropped the information that he'd fallen in love when Billie could not respond – begged to be challenged. To be answered in some possibly even more reckless fashion.  
  
He reached for his whiskey and upended it, letting it burn down his throat. A glance around demonstrated that their attendant had been silent for a reason: he wasn't there.  
  
Billie smirked. "Did we make him uncomfortable?" Heat battered at Lars as Billie let his guard slip even more, unveiling open desire, his hand gliding along his lover's waistband. "What do you think? Did he go ask Carla if he should leave us alone, or did he go call the _Enquirer_ or something?" His fingertips slipped inside Lars's pants to rub against skin in a lightning-quick move, withdrawing almost instantly to trace random patterns on the arm closest to him. Tingles spread through him from each small point of contact between them: the older man's grip on his beltloop; his own delicate strokes; his hipbone pressed against another. Lust dug in sharply as he allowed himself to imagine just for a second that it would happen right here, right now. That his lover would throw him onto the table and take, much the same way he had in that hotel ballroom – the same action that ultimately had led them to this moment.  
  
Full lips parted over a soft exhalation and then he wrapped his hand around the pool cue and stepped away, hips jerking sideways to dislodge Lars's fingers. Billie all but strutted around the table and flicked a look across to his boyfriend that held barely-contained fire as he bent down. "I believe it's my turn."  
  
Lars snorted, sipping his cocktail and letting his gaze slide from his lover. "The _Enquirer_. Now there's a reputable news source." He shifted his footing and rocked from side to side, doing his best to ignore the sensation of skin that was alight, laced by Billie's touch. "He's probably just gone to gossip about us with Carla. I doubt he'll come back in unless we call him. I think it's for the best."  
  
His mind went back to their first meeting, the seedy bar and that not-so-secluded booth. The threatening rasp that had bled from his throat not long after fastening his mouth to Billie's for the very first time.  
  
 _If this is too much for you, I could always drag you out into the middle of the bar…and fuck you right there._  
  
Of course, he hadn't made good on that threat. He probably never would, not unless technology caught up with Hollywood and mind-erasing became possible. But the idea of it, planting a fresh, wicked little seed of fantasy in both their heads; that was something he could stand to come back to over and over. He watched Billie bend, pressing the rim of his glass against his bottom lip. His mind substituted this pool table for one in the main room, envisioning the younger man with his pants crumpled around his ankles, arching against the shining wood, hands splayed and flat against the green felt, breath laboured and cheeks flushed with need. In front of all those people.  
  
An involuntary growl emerged from his throat, and he took another swig from his drink as Billie slid around the table to aim for his next ball. Fucking come on, the guy was begging for it.  
  
He deposited his drink and moved silently over to his lover, folding himself over the smaller body and sliding one hand along an outstretched arm, the other slipping down to tug at that taunting belt buckle.  
  
"There's a whole bar of people in the next room. Clients, attendants, bartenders, gotta be around twenty five people there. More than twice that in the main room. Any of them could come in here and see us like this. Could _watch_ us like this." He dropped his mouth to the back of Billie's neck, swirling his tongue in little circles over smooth skin before he spoke again, voice lowering to a dark purr. "Or we could take it out there."  
  
That second hand succeeded in popping the belt buckle open, and began pulling the strap free. "You _are_ a showman. I know you like having an audience."  
  
After a moment's pause, the belt hanging open and fingertips resting over the button of Billie's fly, he grinned. "I'll leave you with that thought."  
  
He straightened and moved away, walking back to knock back the rest of his drink and continuing across the room to one of the private bathrooms. Green eyes only looked back as the door swung closed behind him.  
  
It took Billie a couple of minutes before he managed to stand upright after the body pressing him against the table had withdrawn. The nape of his neck burned where Lars had licked him as he watched the door obscure a flash of heated green.   
  
Pushing off with his belt dangling, his gaze caught the black 8 ball sitting near the center of the pool table, a few other balls still surrounding it, and a triumphant smirk grew wide. They hadn't finished playing – at least, not this game. As for the other, that muffled growl from his boyfriend had signalled its end. _Well, look at that. I win._  
  
Exactly _what_ he'd won, Billie wasn't quite sure, and with his lover's silken suggestions about taking it to the main room where they could be watched still echoing in his brain and reverberating through the rest of him, his speculative powers weren't up to snuff. But there was only one way to find out.


	14. Chapter 14

Billie laid the cue along the edge of the pool table and headed for that door. Yeah, he was a showman. He did like having an audience. And he had one – a passionately attentive, personal audience: Lars.

He hesitated for a moment before turning the door knob, images flashing through his mind in a montage of possession. Drumstick callused fingers curling around his cock in a darkened booth before lips had ever met. Those same fingers dragging him to the bed by his tie, an action that had been repeated, more than once now. Teeth sinking into flesh to tear and mark and own, over and over. Strong body holding him down, making him accept whatever was coming, making him respond to it. Forcing him…except not. Using force, yes, but not without his consent, and not without his honest pleasure in it.

Where that had come from, why it existed, Billie didn't know. He'd questioned it for a long time – buried it after that first night together, or tried to, only to have it explode to the surface the next time he'd seen Lars. To have it tested time and again, his boyfriend searching out each little trigger and exploiting it until Billie Joe unravelled in his arms.

It had scared the hell out of him once upon a time, this urge to submerge himself in the sensation given him by someone else. To submit; he could say that now. He didn't understand it really, and he suspected that he never would, but in the days that he'd spent recovering from the wounds on his back Billie had had a lot of time to think about how they'd gotten there and what that meant, and he'd realised something critical: it didn't mean anything. It was important, and it held certain ramifications for his relationships – both of them, because it affected Adrienne too – but the whys of it all did not matter. What mattered was that he and Lars intersected at a place that appealed to both of them, turned them both on so goddamned much, and it didn't make Billie less of a person, or less of a man, to go to his knees for someone who loved him the way Lars had finally admitted he did.

A soft smile curved his lips, somewhat at odds with the burning lust still in his eyes, and he opened the door, eyebrows raising at the lush interior of the room.

Spacious enough for a few stalls, the bathroom held a single toilet concealed behind a lavishly wallpapered half wall. An ornate Victorian print hung above the pedestal sink with a glass shelf to the side stocked with hand lotion and tissues, and between the doorway and the sink area hung a full-length mirror that reflected a small armchair in the opposite corner. Billie would have thought it to be a ladies' room, simply from the careful appearance and the complimentary toiletries, but there was no sign on the door. Come to think of it, there were no signs at all. All of the bathrooms must have been designed for seriously luxurious single person use.

That smile tuned into his gaze and deepened into a wicked smirk as he clicked the lock on. Too bad for them there's more than one person in this one.

Billie paced forward to stand near the drummer seated carelessly in the chair, the muted area rug setting the corner off from the pristine tiles covering the rest of the floor. He tilted his head to one side and inquired with more than a hint of saccharine mischief, "Miss me?"

"For all of the four minutes we've been apart, yes," Lars drawled. He had forgotten the incredible opulence of the bathrooms here, only having entered them while occupied with the thought of actually pissing. This time he'd entered with the same thought, but on noticing just how…well-decorated wasn't a sufficient term. Rather, how genuinely beautiful it was in here, how rock star-ish, ideas formed and unfolded in his head. That huge mirror served as the catalyst for all of them.

He remained in the armchair for a few more moments, reflecting his lover's smirk, before pulling himself to his feet and approaching Billie with an unmistakable swagger. Wordlessly, he removed his hat, let it drop to the carpeted floor, and dipped in for a slow kiss, a tantalising taste of a man he'd grown addicted to over the course of four years. Not just addicted to, of course – an addiction had the power, but not the depth of what he felt. Addiction didn't come close to how he felt for Billie.

He wondered just how long Billie had known that Lars had fallen for him, how long ago it was when he began, as he'd said, feeling it from the drummer. Lars wouldn't be too surprised if the younger man had realised it before he had himself, considering quite how much he let his guard down around him, even as far back as the motel. The act that had ended up bringing them together and pushed them far beyond what was intended to be some ego-boosting one night stand, the act of curling around Billie in that bed. A man he'd only known for what must have been two hours at most. That simple, complicated little act was the first time Lars had truly let his guard down, and evidently it had escalated from there. From spooning with added death threat to an hour or so ago, a confession of love. Billie may have smashed the most boundaries in terms of sex – he and Lars had yet to fully switch their roles in the bedroom – but purely mental boundaries? That would be a tough call. Billie had always been a lot more open and unapologetic with himself and his instincts; Lars had not. Not that you wouldn't be hard pressed to find the drummer apologising for himself, but still. He'd just made out with his boy live onstage, a passionate kiss beamed around the world. Even though he was quite the shit disturber, in his gut he knew he wouldn't have done it five years ago – somewhat surprisingly, he wouldn't have had the confidence. With Billie, he knew the reaction he'd get to such a surprise would be a positive, even eager one, and that gave him the gall to put on such a display. To claim his lover before the masses.

Maybe Billie had sensed that Lars had an inkling of that kind of unguarded, deep set affection in him all along. Maybe that was why he'd stuck with the Dick from Denmark all this time. Care about me? Excuse me if I find that a little hard to believe, being Lars 'fucking cunt' Ulrich and all, he seemed to remember thinking in a warm bed, the morning after that other awards ceremony.

To hell with speculation.

Lars broke off the kiss and gave a smug smile. Still without uttering another word, his hands raised to nimbly undo the buttons of Billie's vest, sweeping it off shoulders and letting it crumple to the floor. Those same quick fingers began to work open the black shirt beneath, moist lips scattering hot kisses over freshly exposed skin as he descended.

Billie's collarbone stood out as he inhaled at the drummer's mouth moving across his chest. He let himself be moved this way and that to strip off his shirt and hardly noticed when the fabric drifted to the floor, lifting bared arms dreamily to thread his fingers through wavy brown hair mussed from the hat. His eyes closed, head tipping back, when Lars's hands went to his waist and a minute later, Billie shifted his weight obediently to free his legs and feet, until he stood fully nude before his lover.

It increased the risk, though the door was locked. He thought about their attendant coming back to find them missing and trying all the bathroom doors – finding this one locked, knowing they were in here and having a very good idea of what they were up to considering the insane flirting he'd witnessed. Billie imagined the guy pressing an ear to the door in an effort to hear something, bringing Carla and others…imagined letting loose with a scream knowing they could hear it, that even if they couldn't see, they would know.

A whimper escaped and he felt Lars smile around the tongue in his navel. Billie giggled breathlessly. "If we're gonna turn into the biggest gay cliché out there, at least we're doing it in style."

The slightly rough surface of his lover's palms stimulated his skin, up and down his sides, hips, back. Catching where his bones pressed against his skin and on the multiple dotted lines of healed bitemarks. He didn't miss the faint growl at the latter and his breathing grew rapid as a familiar haze of desire rose to cover him, blanketing his thought processes and opening him up all the way. His stance widened a little.

"Fuck me but I love you," Billie muttered to the hair in his fingers; the hands on his skin. To the oddly silent older man whose mouth was speaking another way right now, skimming along everywhere he could reach and leaving trails of drying wetness that burned.

Lars smiled again, slowing to trace dizzy little patterns with the tip of his tongue over Billie's stomach. By this time he had sunk to his knees, legs spreading to slot himself close to the now nude body before him. Fiery green slid up to lock with clouding hazel as his sinful mouth suddenly dropped to take in a half hard cock. He saw Billie's chest expand at a second sharp intake of breath, and whether it was more from the shock or the pleasure, he didn't know. Either way, the corners of his lips tipped up as they slid down smooth skin. Each slow pull he gave, each bob of his head, each time a warm tongue and wetted lips pulled tight along hardening flesh, he drew delicious, hushed whimpers from above that tingled down his spine. As his eyes slipped closed, he imagined those tingles that awakened his skin to have colours; green and blue pinpricks drumming over his bones and lighting his body.

Fuck, he must be in love to think those kind of thoughts.

Once Billie was fully hard and beginning to squirm just a little, Lars flicked his tongue over the slit of his lover's erection and moved back, raising his eyes. He smiled again.

Do you like me on my knees, Billie Joe?

Heat rose under his skin at that thought, and he smiled wider. He'd bet his own arms and maybe a leg too that Billie liked him on his knees, but tonight wasn't the time for that. He sloped up and claimed another kiss, rougher this time, wandering fingers pushing into a shock of black hair and skating down a marked back. As he did this, he manoeuvred the both of them around until he was facing the door, and once positioned to his liking he slithered around behind the younger man.

Resting his chin on Billie's shoulder, he met hazel eyes in the large mirror before them. Arms wrapped around the nude, lithe body, palms flattening over chest and stomach as he pressed close, making sure Billie was perfectly aware of the erection in his pants. He traced his fingertip over the scar surrounded by a green lightning bolt and spoke in a silken, low purr.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Now?" Billie blurted out. He saw Lars's eyebrows shoot up at the sheer idiocy of the question and rolled his eyes a little at himself. He felt kinda woozy and brain-fuzzed from watching his lover suck his cock with such slow precision while kneeling in front of him.

It affected him strongly, and strangely maybe, because it wasn't a position he'd seen the Dane in before. Blowjobs might be frequent enough but Billie was the one placed in some vulnerable position for them. This had been different and he sensed that the confessions his boyfriend had made tonight had eased him into a higher comfort level with the idea of role reversal. He wasn't there, not yet – but he was a lot closer.

Before he could utter a proper answer, Billie's gaze caught on what showed behind Lars: namely, the door. It loomed right there, in direct line of sight to the mirror, and it meant that if someone did jimmy the lock open they would see. There wouldn't be time to hide or pull clothes back on like there would've been with something simple like jerking each other off. No, if that door swung open, whoever was stood on the other side would get a full frontal pornographic reflection of Billie Joe Armstrong with Lars Ulrich's cock up his ass.

The fantasy inflamed but the tickle of reality brought a touch of true fear and he gave a convulsive shudder in the drummer's arms, eyes wide as they met green ones again in the mirror.

Warmth flowed over him from the older man. Those eyes, always so expressive, had given Billie his first clues that Lars was in this as deep as he was. Had given him enough to continue to pin his hopes on the possibility of them back when he'd believed his boyfriend was still in love with James. Had reassured him and kept him from falling too fucking far the night he'd been marked. Most days, vibrant green eyes told the frontman all he really needed to know.

They didn't disappoint now. Mischief swirled with lust to coat a lustrous, magnetic heat that embodied the way Lars felt about him – that he'd put a name to onstage tonight. Love.

A fingertip still idly stroked the thundercloud tattoo and its scar, and abruptly Billie understood that the thoughts whirling through his mind right now – that little spike of fear – were things his lover had already considered. He hadn't asked a facetious question after all.

That, even more than the choking level of arousal at the idea and the danger of it, convinced Billie. The night after that disastrous dinner, neither of them had known enough about what they were doing; neither had thought out the potential pitfalls ahead of time, and Billie had paid a price for it. He didn't regret it and he didn't waste time or energy playing, 'What if?' or wishing it hadn't happened but it had taken time to get used to what was a major change. He hadn't realised until tonight that he had still been slightly tentative in his responses. That there were things he hadn't quite worked out yet in his brain.

The clear emotion in beloved green eyes and the sure press of a hard body said that Billie didn't have anything to be afraid of anymore.

He nuzzled a pierced ear in surrender. "Yes. I want you to fuck me. Please," he added for good measure, lips curving up where they pressed against warm flesh.

Lars tilted his head to the side and hummed in approval, hand coming up to clasp the back of Billie's head as the younger man kissed just beneath his ear, setting off a buzz under his skin. He'd seen the flash of worry in wide hazel eyes, felt the shiver in a tattooed body, and remained silent. As much as he liked to run his mouth off with so many things, it would have been far too crass in this situation. It would mean far more to him – to both of them – if Billie simply felt the reassurance and the strong foundation Lars was giving him. And he had.

He encouraged Billie's head up until their mouths met, sliding together smooth and languid. His hands once again flattened over his lover's body and said what his lips did not. What he knew for sure he'd be able to do. I'll take care of you, okay?

More kisses were scattered over Billie's shoulder and neck, Californian skin radiating a heat that reminded him of stolen Ray-Bans, christened love nests and midnight swims under full moons. One day they'd go back there, back to the Caribbean villa that had essentially become, for all that they had done there and in Lars's mind at least, their own. He wanted to take Billie back and have an even better vacation, one without all the baggage and things going unsaid, one where they both knew exactly where they stood. He looked forward to that day, and was reminded of it every time he tasted his lover's skin.

Flying on the high of the trust Billie had placed in him, Lars snaked his hand down to grasp the other man's cock and began to pump lazily. He turned up the aggression in his voice, switching it from a purr to a growl and knowing exactly what it would do to Billie, however unneeded the words were. His other hand retreated to stroke fingertips over a sensitive pucker as green eyes once again fired into reflected hazels.

"You don't come until I tell you to."

Billie jerked his head in acknowledgement, lips parting over a low moan at the near-instant assault of hands and voice. He leaned into his lover and simply let go – let any trace of fear or inhibition drain away as he found that place where all that mattered was whatever brought them both pleasure.

His hips pressed back into the teasing caress that awoke his skin and provoked the very beginnings of need with its simplicity. Arms rose to drape haphazardly around the drummer's shoulders and Billie noticed how the stretched position made his hipbones more prominent and highlighted the muscle in his chest and arms. He could see the taut quiver in his stomach above Lars's busy hand, and the flush of arousal in his cheeks that had begun to steal over his body, bringing colour to pale gold flesh as his blood pumped more fiercely. The vain creature inside him appreciated the view and his boyfriend's contentment to just watch sometimes made sense in a way it never had before. Billie Joe looked good in the grip of wanton desire.

He followed the older man's gaze to the callused hand wrapped around his cock and spread his legs a little more, realising that strong thighs were visible between his own and that he would be able to watch Lars fuck him. The idea weakened his knees further and he whined. His lover's answering smirk uncurled greedy tendrils of lust in his midsection and he uttered a dark little laugh.

"So fucking dirty, Uli. The things you do to me…"

That smirk on Lars's face split to reveal gleaming teeth. "You're not complaining then, min skat?"

He pulled that tantalising hand back up to stroke along the underside of Billie's arm, smooth tattooed skin pulled tight as palms sought to touch. Lips picked up where the hand left off for a moment, then they came together, mouth wrapping around two of his fingers and slicking them with spit. When he pulled them free, glistening under the warm light, the Dane paused and simply let his eyes explore the reflection of his lover's nude body, and quite how good it looked to be pressed close behind him. Fuck, it looked so good. Billie looked so good. All open and taut and nude and waiting, ready and waiting for Lars to do whatever he wished. Wanting him to do whatever he wished, because now they both understood that through the yin and yang of it all, things that turned the drummer on while dominance sang through his veins – from the biting and aggression to the desire to please and to watch the younger man lose himself – they held the same punch of pleasure for Billie. It was remarkable. Lars could probably never articulate just how good that felt.

"Fuck," he breathed, not bothering to hide his awe at the sight, or his lust. He'd imagined what it might be like, but this was far beyond what he'd hoped. What he'd fantasised about.

After swirling his tongue around his fingers one more time, he slipped his hand between the two of them and pressed his wetted fingertips against his lover's entrance. The sharp intake of breath that followed set off sparks all over the older man's skin.

Lars spoke again, punctuating each sentence with the slow, insistent push and withdraw of his fingers, other hand moving to flatten over a tight midsection. "I like that you appreciate dirtiness. I love that you're into this. And I love that I'm going to watch you arch and tremble in the mirror while I fuck you, in the middle of a bathroom in a beautiful pool hall where anyone could hear us." He grinned again. "So fucking dirty, Billie."

The frontman's only reply was a helpless moan as his hips started to rock back against the fingers penetrating him. He watched the liquid motion of his body as he echoed the drummer's rhythm, heavy-lidded hazels glazing over with the pleasure that shocked through him. His palms pressed harder against Lars's shoulderblades, slipping on the T-shirt until he dug in, fingernails gripping skin through the fabric.

It crossed Billie's mind that he was probably heavy, leaning back this way, but the thought was there and gone and it didn't stop him from melting right into his lover, seeking to get as close as possible and also wanting more, more, more. The twinges he'd once had that this was selfish of him had finally dissipated with the sure knowledge that Lars adored seeing him like this: single-mindedly focussed on gathering every sliver of sensation he could find and letting it wash through him in naked response.

The long column of his throat gleamed when his neck arched with a muted cry. Lips sought flesh and found mostly curling hair until Billie nosed it out of the way and fastened his mouth to his boyfriend's neck, sucking hard in reflex, wanting the taste, the feel of Danish skin against his teeth and tongue.

Want, need: his world narrowed to those two aspects of desire until they merged and raged inside him, inspiring a staccato rhythm to his breath and wrenching thready moans that began deep in his chest and vibrated from his lips to Lars's neck. He released the pinched skin, absently noting its darkened colour, and tilted his head away to whisper raggedly, "Want you, Uli, please, need you in me, need you to fuck me, please, more, please…"

Lars exhaled suddenly, breathing rough as Billie's mouth assaulted his neck. Automatically he arched into the sensation, a groan passing his open lips at the bruising kiss, one that buzzed against his skin and made his nerves burn. Once Billie released him and those needful words poured from him, he reciprocated, teeth falling to the juncture between Billie's neck and shoulder and biting down hard enough to mark, before lips slid away to scatter messy kisses over whatever bare skin he could reach.

Billie's pleas still echoing into incomprehensibility in his mind, Lars curled his fingers, knowing he was rubbing fingertips against that wretched little spot inside his lover. It wrought more hushed, shrill cries, and those sounds alone were enough to make the older man moan, eyes fixed on the reflection before him. He managed to hook his thumb inside his own belt buckle and prise it open, not wanting to stop those delicious noises emerging from Billie and skittering down his spine for a moment. The hand at Billie's stomach retreated to fumble open his pants, just enough to free his heated erection.

"Fuck, you sound so good," he breathed against an unadorned ear, rocking against Billie's ass as his fingers finally withdrew. "So good…"

Shivers danced over him in anticipation as he pressed his dampening head against his lover's, meeting his eyes and holding his palm open before pouting lips. He gave a guttural command, one that held dark similarities with a night months ago in a darkened cloakroom. His skin felt tight. "Spit."

Billie Joe obeyed instantly, running on pure instinct by this time. The thick liquid trailing from his mouth to the hand held in front of it shone in the soft lighting with filthy promises. There was lotion over in the corner but he knew Lars wouldn't move away now for anything, let alone pretty scents that didn't belong with them. A thumb wiped his bottom lip in a rough caress and then the hand began to lower.

He still had a vague awareness that he had to keep it quiet but that was about the sum total of his brainpower. His lover's naked cock slid along his ass, rubbing insistently, teasing unmercifully until Billie whined in frustration.

"Hurry up, fuck," he entreated, frantic to feel the drummer inside him. Hips pushed back demandingly as the constant friction maddened him. He wasn't really conscious of the picture he made in the mirror anymore, too consumed with desire. "Goddammit, Lars, stop fucking teasing and fuck me, please."

His fingers dug in harder when it didn't stop, wordless pleas spilling in gasping moans and in his chaotic movements, his body seeking some relief from the need swelling to strip him bare, desperate for what his boyfriend could give him.

A wicked, throaty chuckle bubbled up from Lars's throat at Billie's appeals, the older man greatly amused that his lover's need was leaking into frustration. Were they in another place, were they not quite so much at risk the longer they spent there, there was no doubt that Lars would have drawn this out longer, pushing Billie until he was incoherent and frantic with need. More so than he was now, at any rate. He liked to push and tease and torment, that much was obvious, but he wasn't stupid and he wasn't out to ruin lives, so this time he reined it in. Besides, he was horny as hell too, thanks to all the foreplay out at the pool table and the sounds his lover was currently making.

He hissed at the nails biting into his skin through his shirt, the pinching pain igniting his blood and hastening his actions. That moistened hand descended to wrap around his cock, eliciting a groan from his own lips as pleasure shot up his spine and set off a burn in his thighs. Once he'd added to the lubrication with his own spit, his hands settled at Billie's hip and across his chest, thumb resting right in the center of that thundercloud of his.

His tongue swiped across his top lip before he broke out into another wide grin, breath beginning to labour. He pressed Billie back tighter against himself, not caring that his legs were beginning to strain from the weight – in fact he was hardly aware of it, and probably wouldn't be until they were done. The sight of Billie naked, stretched tighter than a drumskin and pushing back hard against him, moaning and whining and desperate, stole away any concepts of fatigue or overexertion. The same thing happened on stage; so elated and high and right in the fucking moment that exhaustion rarely hit him until he was back on the tourbus.

One final glide of a slicked cock against Billie's ass, one more increasingly exasperated moan and Lars ceased teasing. Once his cockhead gave that quiet little pop and he slid deep into his lover, moans rising from both of them and twisting together beautifully, he ceased everything but the hard thrust, thrust, thrust of his hips, eyes fixed on the open pleasure displayed in the reflection of Billie's face.

"Yesssss." The sibilant whisper rasped out amidst renewed moans as Billie shoved back against his boyfriend, meeting every rapid thrust as best he could. The barely adequate lubrication made for intense friction and he whimpered.

Hazels flickered towards the reflection of the door, still safely closed, but in Billie's mind it began to swing open and he let it, let the fantasy of it take control. Tall, statuesque Carla; their attendant whose name he hadn't caught, too focussed on Lars; the elegantly dressed patrons – they all filed into the room in his imagination, their faces exhibiting the same avid interest that his boyfriend's did. The same fascinated hunger.

Someone knelt on either side of them to gain an eye-level view; several phantom people brought out cameras. Digital, film, even video cameras, aimed at thrusting hips or at Billie's full-length reflected nudity. One enterprising fellow moved up by the mirror and crouched almost to the floor as he adjusted the massive telephoto lens. From that angle, Billie knew it could capture not just his straining erection but also Lars slamming into him, fucking him, and the imagined sight made his breath hitch violently.

"Oh fuck," he ground out, one hand slipping from its perch in the mindless urge to add to the spectacle. He caught the drummer's shoulder and fisted the T-shirt to prevent himself; he hadn't been given permission to touch. Or to come.

His back arched, feeling the heat of dozens of unreal eyes as they devoured this debauchery, and a sharp cry broke free for a second before Billie turned his face into his lover's neck, biting at skin and fabric in an effort to muffle his sounds.

"Fuck, Lars, lemme," he panted haltingly. "Need to touch, please, wanna do it for you."

He remembered how the drummer had watched him on the edge of the jacuzzi, eyes obscured by those fucking sunglasses. They were visible now, glowing green green green in the silvered glass before them, but the delighted, filthy little smirk was the same and Billie's hands clamped on tighter, moans streaming from a mouth open wide.

"For me," Lars echoed breathlessly, unsure if it was an affirmation or a question, mind too addled to comprehend much. His fingernails bit into Billie's chest, seeking purchase as the skin his palm lay against became slick with sweat, and he turned his head to take Billie's lips in a messy kiss. The glazed look in his lover's eyes spoke volumes, conveying how far gone he was, how deep into the fantasy he'd let himself go, and it sent a rush of renewed heat through Lars's bloodstream. The kiss became all teeth and tongue, the force and rhythm of it matching each merciless thrust, only broken apart by keening moans and shaky whines. He bit at the younger man's mouth before looking back to the mirror, his own eyes beginning to glaze.

Billie's flesh quivered before him, the shine of sweat almost glittering as his chest heaved and shuddered, lungs claiming air. The curve of muscle in his neck, it too laced with a delicate edge of light; the sweet sound of breathy moans and high whimpers, expressing bliss in ways that were becoming increasingly difficult to stifle.

Fuck. Fuck.

Wanna do it for you.

Something swelled in Lars's chest, bright and hot and powerful.

I love you.

The older man choked on his breath and gave a thick, low moan. He grasped Billie's hand, bringing it up to his mouth and dragging his tongue over the open palm, the fingers, catching Billie's gaze and holding it with smouldering green as he did so. Then he lowered that hand down to wrap it around his lover's cock, lips parted and pressing against a damp temple, panting as he slid Billie's hand along his own heated flesh. Not once did his hips still.

Billie stared at green heat in the mirror, mesmerised by his lover's obvious pleasure in him. The hand atop his own merely held yet his rhythm fell quickly into sync with Lars's thrusts. Each heavy thud against his prostate served as a guide and he'd spent most of his life matching the beat set by a drummer – if not always in a context like this one, with a fleshly assault akin to striking a bass drum; with that deep resonance that vibrates right through you.

His tension soared with the added friction, frame growing rigid against his boyfriend as his body strained. His skin felt too small to contain it, too tight, as if his insides were about to ignite. Lighter fluid for blood, his muddled brain offered. It seemed apt, really; Billie could all but see the flames dancing over his skin, gyrating to the drum beat, lithe hips swaying.

Green spread to colour the fire engulfing his form and the eyes of the imagined spectators, wicked, wicked green spilling into his blown-open mind and Billie moaned, a wet, choking sound that made everything glow brighter. His spine curved and he pressed harder into the solid body behind him, into his solid ground, free hand slipping up to curl around the nape of his lover's neck in silent entreaty.

"Lars," he rasped between throaty gasps as he reached the breaking point. "Lars I…ahhh…Lars, Lars LarsLarsLars…" A whispered litany of the only word Billie could think to say became his liquid plea for release.

Lars shifted his footing, spreading his legs a little more to get better ground, his feet beginning to slip on the tile. Their combined force and the spatters of sweat, shaken from Billie's naked body and decorating the floor around them, proved to be massively unhelpful in keeping their traction. He let out a shuddering breath in between Billie's wave-like repetition of his name, the word pouring over him, bleeding into his skin and his disintegrating mind. The way it rolled off his lover's tongue like a lick given sound – each one struck him deep, low in the pit of his stomach, bolts of pleasure that fell in with his tireless rhythm.

His body demanded more, in every way, overtaking anything his brain had to say. Faster, harder, deeper, louder, turn everything up, give me more. Spurred on by the sights and sounds of Billie's taut body on the verge of something shattering, heat rushed through his whole system, to fingertips, toes and back again, swirling in on itself and converging into some searing whirlpool in his midsection. It burned red, it pulled his own body taut, it made his breath rasp from him and pushed him – pushed the both of them – further.

The sounds from the two lovers increased in pitch as Lars built the pace, rolling his hips and burying himself deep inside Billie's ass with each hard thrust. The younger man's name fell out in the midst of the gasped moans and guttural noises leaking from Lars's open mouth, the two names peppering the heavy air and giving anyone who may have been eavesdropping at the door a clear indication of exactly who was occupying the bathroom. That thought shot fire through him, and a sudden, fast rise of tension signalled he too was approaching a sheer drop.

The hand at the back of Lars's neck tightened its grip slightly, the sounds coming from Billie growing shrill and genuinely desperate. "Fuck," Lars panted in reply, heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Oh fuck…Ah!"

Faster, harder, deeper, louder, rising, almost…fucking there!

The surge took him, pulling him apart in blistering pleasure and leaving a drawn out cry in its wake that was buried in Billie's shoulder. Fingernails dug into a tattooed chest in the only kind of signal he could manage.

Come for me.

On the brink of fracturing into his component parts from the tension screeching through him with Lars's marked increase in speed and force, Billie felt both the nails digging into his chest and the abruptly strengthened grip of the hand over his, squeezing them both around his cock even as he continued to stroke. Reflexively he glanced down at their intertwined fingers and then his gaze rose to find them in the mirror, fever-bright eyes widening as he took in – and somehow comprehended – the sight.

That picture of total fucking abandon – that was him. Every inch exposed and gleaming against his black-clad lover. Hand pumping his own cock; legs spread for the relentless penetration of another. Billie watched the reflection's sweat-painted skin shimmer in fascination as a violent tremor ran through him.

Hazels shifted to regard the fierce grin stretching Lars's lips as the drummer lifted his head to watch. 'This is you,' it seemed to say. 'This is who you really are and I love it.' Acceptance fired into him and his body tightened almost painfully.

Billie's head dropped back onto a strong shoulder, jaw clenching to hold in the scream as pleasure roared in his blood. One element was still missing and he pushed the older man's mouth down to his shoulder again, grinding out a single desire. "Bite."

He heard a growl of approval and then teeth met flesh and Billie Joe detonated.

Sound halted as his throat seized up, hand working furiously to capture every last bit of sensation, Lars's heavy cock pressed deep inside him and a heady source of ecstasy still as Billie's hips careened back and forth, back and forth, until even the dregs had been drained and he coasted to a full stop, winded.

"Holy fuck," he muttered, fighting the absurd urge to giggle. "Holy fuck!"

One still burning green eye was visible in the mirror as Lars panted against the back of Billie's neck, and there was definitely something sly about its gaze. "Yeah," he breathed.

Billie had never asked – or, as it could have been seen, would it be more appropriate to say commanded? – Lars to bite him before, not outright. Never like that. In fact, nobody had asked Lars to bite down and mark their skin before. It was a whole new dimension of pleasure that he hadn't really considered before, but judging by the way his head had spun on setting his teeth into Billie's shoulder, he was glad for it. Fuck, was he glad for it. Something to revisit later on, for sure.

Suddenly, he realised he didn't have the strength to hold Billie up any more, and as the frontman was still leaning heavily against him, gravity called. The hand at Billie's chest moved down to wrap around a slick waist and, bending his knees, carefully pulled them both down into a sitting position. As carefully as was possible, anyway, and the drummer gave a token 'ow' as his ass met the floor with a thump.

"What did you think, huh? Seeing what I see?" Lars asked Billie's reflection, the two of them separated and the younger man cuddled close, arms encircling him as they both came down. His smile was wide and warm. "See, when I was on tour, when it got late and I was good and alone, that's what I'd picture. No substitute for the real thing, of course."

He smiled wider and looked to the Billie that was in his arms, regarding him for a moment before catching him in a slow kiss. Fuck, he felt giddy. Having his lover at least begin to understand why he'd always taken such deep pleasure in watching the bliss unfold in the body of his bedpartner was important – it wasn't as if Billie ever held back when they were together, but to have a cyclical kind of recognition of what the other person appreciated, what the other person adored about you and to gain pleasure from that…it was profound and Lars could feel it in his chest.

The Dane traced his fingertip over the circle of darker skin at Billie's shoulder. His voice softened. "You looked really good."

"Yeah, I uh, I really kinda did." Billie licked his lips with a disbelieving laugh. "It didn't really sink in until almost the end, you know, that that was me. Not just me reacting to you but really, honestly, me. It's kind of a big thing to wrap my head around."

The tiled floor chilled his bare, sweat-drenched skin but he wasn't quite ready to trust his legs to support him yet so he simply huddled closer to the drummer. "There's this little part of me going, 'I can't believe we just fucked in a bathroom'. And then there's this, you know, new understanding of myself that's going, 'Hell yes we did', and it's a lot stronger." He let out a few of the giggles that still bubbled in readiness in his throat. "Fuck, I knew you were visual but the two of us together is a pretty fucking amazing visual."

Billie shifted again and kissed Lars. "I listen to you, if I'm stuck alone. That lilting accent you still have and the way it sounds when you kinda growl, or moan. Some of the shit you say or that I fantasise about hearing from you." In his post-orgasmic daze, he forgot that he'd once decided never to share this particular piece of information and continued, "Been listening since the first time we had sex; wasn't always alone then."

Drooping tiredly, Billie pressed another swift kiss to Danish lips and climbed to his feet, wandering over to the sink. "I'm gonna wash up a bit and get dressed. I think we were quiet enough but we've been in here a while now so we should definitely get going." He cast an amused glance at his still-seated boyfriend. "I guess this is the real reason we got a hotel suite with a jacuzzi tub, huh? Built-in recovery apparatus."

Lars smirked in reply, lying back on the floor and pushing his hips up to hitch up his pants. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he zipped and buttoned himself, echoing his concentration during the now forgotten game of pool.

He had had to stifle a self-deprecating snort of disbelief at Billie's earlier words. Right, so one of the many things that pisses people off about me is what really turns you on? I'm impressed. Had the snort emerged, though, it would have slid into a bashful smirk – since the first time they'd had sex? Wow. He felt a certain amount of smugness at that. It wasn't as if he particularly disliked Mike or anything, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't take some pleasure in the disclosure that his voice had been leaking into Billie's head when a bassist's gentle touch should have been his main focus.

And it did lead him to make a mental note to amp up the dirty talk one day and see what reactions it would cause in his lover. Heh.

The drummer pushed himself up into a squat, dragging a hand through his hair as he inspected himself in the mirror. The soft light caught on something small immediately in front of him, drawing his gaze down to the tiled floor. He couldn't help but snicker filthily when he realised what it was.

"Hey, I think we'd better clean up more than just you," he drawled, pointing his chin towards the small splatter on the floor. "'Less we wanted to provide them with evidence."

A minute or so later, Lars was straightening the hat back on his head and tugging his shirt straight, thoughts of a relaxing bathe in their jacuzzi swirling indolently through his mind. He leaned over and dropped a kiss to Billie's bare shoulder as the younger man splashed water on himself. "I'm gonna go see if I can get a hold of Carla, thank her before we go," he murmured. "I'll call a cab, too. Be a little less suspicious if we don't leave the bathroom arm in arm, you know?"

He ruffled his lover's hair, eliciting a small cry of annoyance, and flashed a dazzling grin as he darted away, hand wrapping around the door handle. He even went as far as to blow a kiss to the half dressed man as he slipped out.

"Asshole," Billie tossed at the closing door, his tone more affectionate than pissed off. Lars had been teasing him about his preoccupation with his hair since that time he'd been caught with a straightening iron. Right now, nothing short of a shower and a handful of shampoo was going to make any difference in how utterly fucked up it looked and he gave up with a sigh and slipped into his shirt. At least the frequent accompaniment of 'prettyboy' had been missing.

One of the many clues that his boyfriend's feelings at least approached equal strength had been when he'd begun to call Billie 'prettyboy'…and stopped calling him 'girly'. It irked, that newer description, but it was a mild kind of annoyance whereas 'girly' had set his teeth on edge – had felt more like belittlement than the silliness it was meant to be. As secure as Billie Joe was in himself and as he had become in this relationship, there would always be sore spots; it was only human nature. That Lars had noticed his genuine discomfort and altered his behaviour slightly to alleviate it had said rather a lot. That he did still tease, well, that was human nature, too, coupled with the drummer's enjoyment in watching him squirm regardless of the reason.

Though Billie had definitely been educated some tonight as to just why his lover took such delight in being a spectator for that.

Ablutions completed, he exited the lavish bathroom in time to see Lars return to the Chenier room with their jackets. As Billie put his on, the untidy sprawl of the interrupted pool game – untouched in their absence – drew his gaze. He flicked a glance at his lover, T-shirt disappearing beneath the suit jacket, and sauntered over to the table to pick up the black 8 ball and nonchalantly drop it in the closest pocket, the soft thud signalling that the game had been won.

He leaned one hip against the table, smirking. "Wanna make a stop for champagne on the way? Be faster than room service."

Lars replied with an eyeroll, both to the very much against the rules manner in which Billie ended their pool game and the query about their beverage of choice back at the hotel. "Well, just maybe a certain drummer already took care of that," he smiled, tilting his head, hands in his pockets as he swayed from side to side. "Carla was pretty busy, and I couldn't see the dude who served our drinks, so I'd say we're safe to go. Unless of course he's on the phone to the National Enquirer. If there's an assault course of paparazzi outside, I guess we'll know either way."

Fortunately the assault course was absent, and the cab ride back to the hotel passed in satisfied silence. Lars sprawled back against the seat, one arm thrown over the back and a complacent little smile just slightly affecting his lips. He decided that the only way tonight could have gone better was if he'd won the pool game. Or maybe to walk into the hotel foyer and discover that Deep Purple and Oasis were jamming in the conference room and hey, did their favourite Dane feel like getting in on it?

Though, he thought to himself as he stole a glance at the curve of his lover's jaw, the younger man watching the bright lights sweep by out the passenger window, were a situation like that to present itself, with fancy cocktails on the side, I'd be hard pushed to choose between that and an hour or two blissed out in a jacuzzi with my pop-punk ringmaster. But then again, one of those is actually going to happen in about ten minutes.

As they exited the taxi and climbed the steps towards the hotel entrance, Lars looked over to Billie, eyeing his mussed hair and smudged eyeliner. When his gaze was returned, he stifled a smirk. "You look good," he whispered. There was a shade or two of amusement in his voice, but the sincerity lay in his eyes. Billie did look good – not tidy, not photoshoot preened, not rock show sexy, but real good all the same. A private kind of good, not one for the cameras or the fans. One for him to bask in and be so very smug about. It was his work, after all.

Doors, foyer, elevator, corridor, room, and would you believe it – an ice bucket containing two flutes and a bottle of champagne presented beautifully with a strip of green ribbon tied around its neck, all ready and waiting for them on the coffee table as they entered.

"Look at that," Lars said airily, lifting the champagne and tugging at the decoration, turning to the other man. "Green ribbon. I guess you could take that to mean your band, or my beautiful eyes, or," his eyes dropped to Billie's chest. To hidden lightning bolts. "Whatever you want, really."

A pause in which grins were exchanged, and the drummer turned and picked up the ice bucket, strolling towards the bedroom and adjacent bathroom. "I'll get everything set up, okay? And I'll check the news," he added with a audible smile.

"Right, the news," Billie echoed. They'd have to pick up a copy of the L.A. Times in the morning, too. He shook his head at the disappearing drummer with a fond smile. Green ribbon, Jesus. Any ribbon, for that matter – what a supremely sentimental touch. It formed an odd balancing act with the decidedly mischievous manner in which Lars had admitted his feelings and the wild contrast was a familiar one. Life with Lars meant growing accustomed to his highly contradictory nature and learning to roll with it. Flowery romance tempered by acidic wit. Gifts that had teeth.

Incredibly dirty sex in a bathroom that was more opulent than Billie's entire house.

He thought about the distracted wave goodbye from Carla as he undressed, his mind flickering back to the first time they'd left a bar together and his moment of gratitude that the older man had brazenly licked his ear while the bartender watched, because Billie had known that an element of danger inhabited the act of taking Lars back to his room – of being alone with him, and at his potentially non-existent mercy.

Billie Joe frowned. His hands stilled on his belt buckle and he reached into his pocket for the crumpled pack of Camels before dropping his pants, calling out to his boyfriend. "I'll be on the balcony."

The summer night air felt warm even naked, though the concrete railing was cool enough as he leaned on it, lighting up and staring at the city lights far below him. Thinking about that danger.

He'd been looking for punishment that night, and he'd definitely found it and a whole lot more. Far more than he could ever have anticipated…including a certain amount of risk. Risk that he'd poked at like a kid with a stick and a fallen hornets' nest. Only Billie hadn't been able to run when the inevitable had happened and he would bear the resultant stings on his skin until the day he died. A hazard he hadn't dared again until tonight. He'd been telling himself all along that it made him nervous but in the wake of his total surrender, he understood that that had been a lie.

Billie hadn't been nervous. He'd been fucking scared. As strongly as he felt about Lars and as much as he trusted him, some corner of his brain had been frightened to let go, to truly provoke, because he had not been at all sure that he wouldn't be stung again, maybe worse next time, not as complex-yet-simple as a few dozen scars crisscrossing his back. And it would be easy to say that what had given him the courage was his boyfriend's earlier admission, but it wouldn't be correct, not completely, because just as he'd said to Lars, he'd already known, and besides that, the words weren't magic. Important, special, meaningful: absolutely, but I love you wasn't some panacea.

He wasn't entirely sure what had broken the fear. A combination of things; perhaps his heart had simply decided it was time. He puffed hard on the cigarette, watching it glow brightly as his other hand fingered marked skin, skating as far up his back as he could easily reach and then dropping away to prod the fresh bruise on his shoulder. The one he had demanded.

A scuffing noise sounded behind him and Billie realised he was no longer alone. He chose to break the silence first. "It wasn't just me in the mirror, you know. I could see you. See that you," he paused and crushed the cigarette against the railing, letting it drop, unnecessary now, as he turned towards Lars.

"I could see that you were with me, right there, the whole time. That you were solid," he said quietly, hoping that his boyfriend would also hear what he didn't say. What he wouldn't say. Billie Joe didn't have much in the way of masculine pride but he did have some and it wouldn't allow for that. Same as his hasty retreat the night of the dinner party might have seemed cowardly but still a damn sight better than breaking down in tears on his own goddamned front lawn.

He offered a smile, head tilting coyly to one side. "The tub full up?"

Lars remained in the sliding doorway, unconsciously mirroring the tilt of Billie's head. Green eyes held a greater shine than usual, reflecting the night's artificial glow, body rendered in silhouette by the warm light from inside their temporary abode. After a pause, the faintest smile traced over his mouth. "Almost," he replied eventually.

The smile grew and his chest swelled a little with it. He stood aside for Billie to pass him, and as his lover did so, the Dane caught him with a hand cupping his bare hip. "Solid," he echoed softly as he moved and chest came to rest against back, chin against shoulder, hand sliding to lay flat over stomach. He nodded to himself. "Solid," he said again, almost as if the word was new to his foreign tongue. There was a certain element of truth there – he hadn't been called solid in that sense in a long time.

"Tonight…the whole of tonight just proved to me, as if I needed any more proof, that you're just so much stronger, a thousand times stronger in yourself than the guy I used to be with. And you're stronger than me, too. But if you think I'm solid, then," he paused, unsure of how to articulate himself in a way that didn't mean using fifteen more words than the moment called for. Finally, he kissed the back of Billie's neck and slid both arms around his waist.

"Thank you."

Billie leaned back against him. It felt better than ever before.

A moment of basking in pure contentment, and Lars dropped one more kiss to bare skin before unwrapping himself. "C'mon, before we flood the place."

The casual comment turned out to be rather prophetic – as the two of them entered the bathroom, the water in the tub just reached the rim and began spilling onto the floor. Letting loose a harsh-sounding Danish curse, Lars dumped his halfway-off shirt to the floor and scampered to the faucets, shutting them off. He looked vaguely sheepish and huffed at the almost-moat surrounding the jacuzzi. "Good thing they got the fucking motherload of towels in here, huh?" he muttered, cocking his head towards the impeccably folded white towels, piled high on two black marble shelves.

The moat of sorts soon turned into a bunker of sorts, the two men on their hands and knees laying down or wadding up towels to soak up the mess. Lars did not fail to notice the grin on Billie's face, scowling in the face of it. "You can wipe that silly smile off, precious, I'm not beyond dunking you in there," he threatened perfectly seriously, flicking water at his lover and pointing his chin at the waiting tub.

"Dunk away, dude. I was already planning to get in the water, remember?" Billie hastily ducked when a soaking wet towel sailed by, grin widening. He stood up, moving carefully on the slippery floor, and eyed the tub before leaning over and opening the drain, watching the water level drop a few inches. Bathing kids had taught him that too-full tubs will overflow when the splashing starts and they'd already used all the towels.

A hand ran up the inside of his thigh as he bent to close the drain and he laughed, catching it in a strong grip as he turned to face Lars and tugging the older man to his feet for a kiss. Teasing affection lit hazel eyes. "Don't you ever get enough?"

Billie smothered any possible answer with another kiss then pointed at the jacuzzi. "In," he commanded, overriding the objection visible in raised eyebrows with a lick along one pierced ear. "Go on, get settled. I'll just be a sec."

He left it to the drummer to start the bubbles and opened his toiletries case, scrubbing off the remains of his eyeliner. As Billie Joe tossed blackened bits of cotton into the trash, he thought about what Lars had said, both now and before they'd gone out. That he'd been more of a real man about all this than James had. That he was stronger than either Metallica musician. It didn't compute perfectly but he conceded that he was, and had always been, exceptionally grounded in who he was. Indeed, that was one of the reasons why parts of this journey towards understanding each other – towards a balanced, equal relationship between he and Lars – had been so fucking hard: because his lover had badly shaken that confidence. Billie had gotten twisted up in partial truths and it had led him to truly doubt himself for the first time in decades.

No longer.

Face clean, he stepped into the water, its motion against his body echoing the effervescence of the glasses of champagne that sat at Lars's elbow. Billie grinned at the pleasant moment of déjà vu and then broke it, heading straight for his boyfriend. He straddled the drummer's lap and wound his arms around bare shoulders, unashamedly pressing close with a little sigh that became a drowsy hum, very nearly a purr, vibrating against a damp neck.

Billie honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this purely happy. It coloured his voice when he murmured, "This is nice."

Lars made a small noise in agreement, smile wide at the body draped over him. "A really good end to a really good day. Though that isn't strictly accurate, it being half an hour into tomorrow, but, y'know, we'll disregard that." The hand that wasn't moving to wrap around one of the delicate glasses traced knuckles slowly up and down Billie's side. He felt like some kind of oversized indolent cat, all sleepy-eyed and sprawling as he was. "CNN were talking about some hockey thing, but MTV were already showing the highlights, and it turns out they really are comparing us to Madonna and Britney. They split the screen and showed us and them at the same time, and then they showed those two kids from last year."

When he spoke again, after dragging his teeth over his lover's shoulder, his voice took on a supremely arrogant sneer. "Ours was obviously the best. I'd like to see anybody even try and top our little performance."

He sipped his champagne, smirk still twisting his lips, and traced a fingertip all the way up and down the ridge of Billie's spine, right from the back of his neck to his tailbone beneath the bubbling water and back again. Hazed green eyes watched its progress, watched Billie arch just a little at the gentle touch. "Beautiful," he murmured softly.

The drummer did not, would not speak about his own or James's strength lightly, especially when considering how much stronger they'd both become in the last five years. He'd meant what he said – in his own mind and right then at least, Billie was the strongest of the three of them, and until James was one hundred percent out of Lars's head in terms of casting his shadow over his bandmate's current relationship, that's the way it would stay. Thankfully, though, the last few months – since the vacation, in fact – had been like whitewash to those unhappy little reminders, and slowly but surely James's influence had been leaking from Lars's life. As James's silhouette had fallen away, a new one had taken its place. Piercing blue forced out by bright hazel, golden curls washed away by a shock of spiky black, thin lips to full ones, powerful form to slight.

Probably most importantly of all, in all this, was the fact that Billie himself had been giving him the trust that what happened between the drummer and his frontman wouldn't happen again. His own fear of losing Billie in that way had been instrumental in almost driving them apart, and slowly but surely, the trust that Lars had lost with James's sudden departure was earned back thanks to a lover that was totally comfortable with who he was, not bound by the worry of past relationships rearing their heads in his mind. In that alone, Billie was stronger.

Lars was determined that this would not hold true forever.

For now though, conceit, satisfaction and giddy exhilaration all swirled into one in his stomach and bled through his body with each thump of his heart. He nosed at the hair curling just a little by Billie's ear, pressing a lingering kiss to his neck while his free hand trailed a delicate path over perfect scars.

"I love you."

The words dripped onto Billie's skin, following the light tracing of fingertips and spreading to cover him in a warmth more profound than that of the heated water. He raised his head to regard green eyes, clear and open, bursting with emotion, and he smiled. Savouring the opportunity to add one little word to a phrase his own lips formed easily and often – to respond instead of initiate in this one area.

"I love you, too."

Billie punctuated the declaration with a languid kiss, mouths moving together in a graceful, unhurried rhythm. Lars tasted of champagne and his tongue sought out the fizzy path, exploring, hands moving to thread through mussed, curling brown hair and knead the scalp concealed beneath with the barest of pressure. Kissing for its own sake; not a prelude, not a means to an end, but a simple mingling of breath and flavour that claimed all facets of his attention and formed a physical echo of the words they had both spoken.

A laugh escaped when at last he drew back, watching his boyfriend's eyes flutter open with an expression Billie could only think to describe as dreamy. The corners of his mouth turned up in an irrepressible smile.

"I don't think I've ever explicitly told you how glad I am that you're a curmudgeonly," he paused to kiss away Lars's indignant splutter, keeping to the pattern of word-kiss-word as he continued, "Stubborn, provocative, arrogant, pigheaded, teasing, possessive, self-righteous, voyeuristic, aggressive, sentimental asshole." Incredulous green glared at him and Billie grinned, placing a finger over the Dane's lips and tracing their contours. "If you weren't all those things, Uli, I wouldn't be here now, and that doesn't bear thinking about because this is exactly where I want to be."

He drew his fingers through the drummer's hair, smile intact even as he leaned in for another, briefer kiss. With his other hand he grasped Lars's and brought it up to flatten on his chest over the thundercloud tattoo. "As for being compared to Britney and Madonna, I've worn some weird shit in my time, but I ain't getting into any wedding dress so ink will just have to do."

His head tilted, smile widening as his lover's thumb stroked over the design in a habitual gesture. Billie Joe gave the warm metal dog tag sandwiched between them a swift tug before returning to his original position, arms wound tight around his boyfriend, and nuzzling along a smooth-shaven jaw.

"Yeah, I love you, you romantic, clichéd motherfucker."

A couple more splutters, ones that would have been perfunctory but for the fact that this time the drummer's words were genuinely failing him, and Lars finally came up with a suitable response – or retort, whichever way you would choose to take it.

"You forgot sexy. And silly, athletic, talkative. Tall, dark and handsome. I could've been a model in Vogue, y'know."

Reining it in before it stopped being funny and satisfied with the few suppressed sniggers it got him, he settled back into silence. He supposed that if he were a character in a comic, there would be a big red heart floating about five inches above his head, and a hazy pink shading his cheeks. He chose not to acknowledge that the latter, judging by the heat in his face, was probably true.

His scalp tingled, as did his lips, and jaw, and anything Billie had touched. Hundreds of gentle pinpricks, tiny fireworks across his skin like this was all a cause for celebration. Fuck, it was.

Lars took another swig of champagne and deposited the glass, reaching between them to pull his dog tag free. He held it up, light winking at one of its corners before skimming over its surface and highlighting that all important phrase. "Den eneste, huh?" he said quietly, warmth swelling his voice. He felt Billie smile against his neck.

This was how it was supposed to be. This.

Unbeknownst to Billie was that while the younger man had been out on the balcony, the Dane had checked his cell and found that he'd received a voicemail from one Kirk Hammett.

"*laughter* Holy shit, man, have you guys been drinking Jägermeister? I've just had fucking Peter Mensch and John Marshall call me up and tell me to switch on MTV – good job of owning the fucking Movie Awards! If only the kids knew, right? I bet you guys are fucking right now, aren't you? Man! Fucking lovebirds! Call me tomorrow, or when you're not getting busy with your husband!"

Lars grinned at the memory, and it set off an impish spark in his midsection. Reaching back to grasp and knock back the rest of his drink, he spoke. "Min skat?" A drowsy hum was given in reply. "Could you get me my cell phone? There's a message you should listen to. And I wanna see that ass wiggle when it leaves the room."

Billie's whine of protest against moving became a snuffed laugh at the added sentence. But as he slid back and set his knees on the floor of the tub, the quiet peace was shattered, Lars making good on his earlier threat by launching forward, planting both hands on Billie's head and pushing him under the water. The sound of the resulting tidal wave hitting the already wet tiles was followed by damn near hysterical giggling, further splashing and shrieking as a water fight ensued. It was only brought to an end when Danish lips moved to claim American ones.

Tiny bubbles, tiny fireworks, all over their skin. One grouchy heavy metal tub-thumper and one prettyboy pop-punk ringmaster, utterly in love but still firmly in lust.


End file.
